Time After Time
by The Profane Angel
Summary: A dark look at the deepening of Jack and Claire's relationship, and the genesis of Claire's feeling on the death penalty. Set in the months preceding "Aftershock"


Fanfic - time after time

Title: Time After Time

Disclaimer: I don't own anything connected with Law & Order, but I surely do love playing in Wolf World.

Synopsis: a very dark look at the deepening of Claire and Jack's relationship, the genesis of her views on the death penalty, takes place shortly before "Aftermath"

Rating: M - language, sexuality, implied violence

Claire turned off her desk lamp, shouldered her purse, and walked to Jack's office. His door was open, and she paused for a moment, watching him. His elbows were on the desk, his hands supporting his head; Claire didn't know if he was reading or napping. As always, he sensed her presence within seconds and looked up, smiling. Claire came into the office and sat in the chair he kept near his for her. Their knees touched.

"Finish up the interviews on Calder?" he asked.

"Scheduled the last one for tomorrow morning. I assume the witness will show." She increased the pressure of her knee on his.

Jack frowned. "Why wouldn't he show up? Are Calder's goons threatening witnesses?"

Claire shrugged. "Bart Howard wouldn't tell me if he was, but something has him hinky. And when I called Cecilia Brent this afternoon she seemed this close to memory failure." She held her thumb and index finger a fraction of an inch apart.

Jack leaned back, locking his hands behind his head. Claire knew he'd put his feet on the desk if her knee wasn't sending signals. Their eyes focused on the other's, nothing like a little eye sex in the office, she thought; they could get away with this even if Adam burst through the side door. Just a little game of chicken, she thought, and flashed a teasing smile. Jack answered with his knee, then leaned forward, his elbows hitting the desk. "Let's get out of here," he said, an unmistakable rasp in his voice.

Adam came out of his office as they approached. He held up a hand and they stopped. Claire saw something in his expression that sent a chill down her spine, and she unconsciously moved a step closer to Jack. "Come in for a minute," he said. Jack looked down at Claire, then shrugged as they turned left and followed Adam into his office. He closed the door and looked at them, then waved them toward his couch. Claire realized they weren't fooling him, and she dreaded what was coming. She sat next to Jack, crossing her legs and willing her heart to beat slower. She looked at Jack, he was imperturbable, his office mask. Adam could walk in on them doing the deed and Jack would look up and say "How's it going, Adam?" with that expression.

Adam busied himself pouring scotch into glasses. When they had drinks, he sat in his desk chair and studied them again. "We have a problem," he said. "You have a problem, to be more precise." Here it comes, she thought, and ordered her hand to remain in her lap as opposed to grabbing Jack's. She waited. Tension seeped from Jack, but he still wore his office mask. "Michael Calder has threatened this office, you two in particular." He sipped his scotch. "It's a very credible threat, by a very smart man. We know it's coming from him but we can't prove it." 'We' was the threat assessment team, which was responsible for the safety of the District Attorney's office as well as the mayor's and other prominent figures with a hand in law enforcement. Claire did move an inch closer to Jack. "He promises a slow, painful death." The old man grimaced, looking away for a second. "I'm assigning security to the both of you. No, don't start," he said as Jack opened his mouth. He swallowed more scotch, his gaze boring into Jack. "I don't suppose I could convince you to make it easier on your detail by becoming roommates."

Jack grinned. "Very thoughtful of you, Adam. Are you sure that won't ignite the gossip furnace?"

Adam waved an imaginary fly from his face. "Like the flame isn't already flickering." He stared at Claire. "This is serious, Claire. You don't have much experience with this kind of thing, Jack does, so I want you to move into his apartment for the duration of the trial. He has a doorman, you don't, so it's easy to slip one of our people in as that. I will promise swift and certain punishment to anyone I hear gossiping about your, uh, living arrangements." He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes, then he finished his drink and sighed. His hand closed on the phone; he pushed a button and put the receiver to his ear. "Send 'em in." He replaced the receiver with a restrained toss.

"Adam," Jack said, glancing at the office door. "I'm not having strangers living in my apartment."

"Wanna bet?" He frowned at Jack.

"You're crazy. Not going to happen."

"Consider them chaperones to cut the gossipmongers off at the knees." The doorknob squeaked as it turned. A woman - Claire pegged her as mid-thirties - and a man about the same age came in. The woman wore jeans and a Ralph Lauren cotton sweater, Addidas tennis shoes, and a backpack slung over one shoulder. Her blonde hair was cropped, and her tanned face had deeply etched lines framing her mouth. The man, with shiny black hair falling down his forehead, wore khakis and a white shirt under a brown leather jacket. He closed the office door, then, in step, they advanced on Adam's desk, halting a foot from it. They waited. Adam stood. "Adam Schiff," he said. "These are the ADAs handling the Calder case, Jack McCoy and Claire Kincaid."

"Piper Craig, my partner Rich Bridgeman." She looked at the lawyers on the couch, Claire felt like a specimen under the microscope. Finished evaluating their weaknesses and assigning them a rating on the pain in the ass scale, Piper Craig looked at Adam. "Two apartments? That's going to --"

"No, for the time being, Miss Kincaid will move into Mr. McCoy's apartment."

"Adam," Jack said. "I don't want strangers living in my house. There are privacy issues, to begin with."

"You don't have much choice, Mr. McCoy," Piper said, eyeing him perceptively. "I suspect it's going to come down to whomever will make Miss Kincaid feel more comfortable, which probably means me. Others will be stationed outside, one of us will act as driver/body guard, and more of us will be in this building. Get used to it," she said, not unsympathetically. "There's no privacy until this thing is over. I'm sorry about that, but it's the way it is."

Jack looked at Claire, and she nodded almost imperceptibly. "Fine," he said, sighing, "We were ready to go home - do they go with us now?" When the two agents nodded, he said "We'll have to stop by Claire's." He smiled. "Am I going to have panty hose hanging from my shower rod?"

"Probably. Do you squeeze the toothpaste from the center of tube?"

"No, but I leave the seat up."

Adam shook his head and looked at Piper Craig. "I think you got the short end of the stick in this bargain."

She looked at her charges with open amusement. "So they think. I was an instructor at Quantico, I think I can handle a couple of lawyers." She looked at her watch, then at Rich. "Let's get this rolling."

Two agents accompanied Claire into her apartment. She packed quickly, her suits and hose and shoes - she had enough casual clothing in Jack's closet. She slung the garment bag over her shoulder and left with Piper Craig and a man introduced as Matt. She was struck by their professionalism - they were unobtrusive but alert, she felt safe with them. Jack fretted in the car, she saw his eyes sweeping the sidewalk as she walked to the car. Matt got the door, and Claire slid in, followed by Piper. They drove to Jack's apartment building by indirect route, she noticed the driver checking the mirrors every few seconds. They were hurried into the building and up to Jack's apartment, where Matt and Rich took up posts on either side of the front door.

"I'm not prepared for guests," Jack said, closing the door on the agents and bolting it.

"Not a problem," Piper said. "I'm not here to sleep." She went to the windows, then pulled the blinds. "Minimal lighting, please." She moved through the small apartment like a cat in a new house. Claire, unsettled again, moved to Jack, who put his arm around her shoulders. Piper came back to the living room, noting the pair, there was nothing for it but to address it. "Why don't you sit," she said, taking a seat in the easy chair across from the couch. "I'm aware of your relationship," she began, "it's my job to know these things. It's an exploitable weakness." She sighed, then got up and walked into the small kitchen. "I'm helping myself," she called over her shoulder. "It will be replaced tomorrow, but right now I need a Diet Coke." She grabbed a bottle and returned to the living room. Jack was pouring scotch for himself and Claire. He left the open bottle on the coffee table, then leaned back, his arm going around Claire as his feet went on the table. They waited, uncomfortably aware of the parallels between their situation and that of those they sent to Attica or Rikers or wherever the state of New York deemed appropriate for miscreants. "Agents are not permitted to discuss what they see and hear outside the parameters of security. I see and hear nothing. I'm here to protect you, I need your cooperation for that." She wanted to drain the bottle, but kept herself to a large swallow. "Follow my instructions and you'll come out of this in one piece." She met their level, intense gaze. "But. You have no privacy. Everything is dictated by situation. If I get an alert, for example, that someone's on the fire escape, I'm going to charge into the bedroom. I know how uncomfortable that is, and I'm sorry for it, but there's nothing I can do. My job is to keep you alive."

Claire nodded, feeling a great weight on her narrow shoulders. She looked at Jack, who squeezed her shoulder, we'll get through it he said, talking with his body. She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he pulled her closer. Her left hand rested on his flat abdomen, her fingers toyed with a shirt button for a second then were still. How were they going to live with this, she wondered, then realized live was the operative word. She thought about Michael Calder, what possessed him to think threats would have any influence on the outcome of his trial? He was accused of one murder, suspected of six, a modern day Jack the Ripper, preying on hookers and street kids all over the city. He scared the hell out of her. She listened to Jack's heartbeat instead of fear, inhaled his scent, felt his strong arm around her. "I'm going to get ready for bed," she said, and sat upright. She took a final sip of her drink, then put the glass on a copy of Time on the coffee table. A little unsteady, she rose with as much grace as possible and went into the bedroom, acknowledging Piper's "no lights!" with a wave.

The sound of drawers opening and closing carried to the living room, then Claire walked into the bathroom, carrying clothing. Jack leaned his head against the back of the couch, eyeing his minder as he swirled his drink with his index finger. Piper watched him watch her, waiting. He knew she'd say nothing about it unless he opened the proverbial door. "It's a firing offense," he said softly.

"I know. And I told you, as far as your personal life goes, I see and hear nothing. Although." A smile flickered. "You're obviously not a man the DA wants fired. You have quite a reputation."

"Undeserved, for the most part." He drank, then poured more. As an afterthought, he tilted the bottle toward her. She shook it off. "Claire's far more vulnerable on that count than I am. We try to be discreet."

"You are, for the most part. Believe it or not, Mr. Schiff is on your side. He felt my presence would discourage the gossip - it really is essential to have you both under one roof."

"So he requested a female agent?"

"He did. I guess he thought Miss Kincaid would succumb to terminal embarrassment if a male agent moved in."

On cue, the toilet flushed, and then Claire came out, wearing drawstring cotton pants and an oversized tee shirt. She walked to Jack and bent to kiss the top of his head. He caught her hand as she straightened up, smiling. "I'll be in shortly," he said, and let her hand go. She returned his smile with one of her own, one that stirred something buried deeply within the Protective Services agent, the intimacy of those smiles, those subtle touches, were not lost on Piper Craig. She hoped like hell the mattress didn't squeak. She watched Claire's retreating back, then realized Jack McCoy was watching her watch Claire. Her face felt hot, and she almost drained the Diet Coke. He was amused. She tried to glare at him. "I do not want to trade places with you!" she snapped. "It's just that she's so beautiful, and she's vulnerable, and that's irresistible bait to our Mr. Calder." She shuddered. She'd seen the crime scene photographs when this detail landed on her desk. Claire Kincaid was the weak spot, a magnet for a man who thrived on sadism and found associates to do the same. "She shouldn't be alone for long," Piper said, softly, but there was no way to soften the underlying message. "We're good at our jobs, Mr. McCoy, but no one's good enough to stop a determined adversary every time."

Alarmed, he got up. As he picked up the glasses to take to the kitchen, she stopped him, taking them from him. "I'll do that," she said, "gives me something to do." She glanced at the closed bedroom door. "You hear anything - dog barking, a scratch, anything - start yelling for me." She held both glasses in one hand; her free hand patted his arm. "Go, sleep, I'm here and I won't be sleeping. And no lights."

"No lights," he mumbled, then said, "Good night, Ms. Craig."

"Piper," she said. "Living in such intimate circumstances, Piper is appropriate."

He nodded. "Jack."

"Good night, Jack."

He closed the bedroom door, then stood for a few seconds, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. Claire moved, rolling from her side to her back. "Jack?" He moved to the bed and undressed, letting his clothes lie where they fell. He eased into bed and pulled her close, inhaling her scent, feeling the fragility of her bones, tasting her as he kissed her. His hand slid under the tee shirt, her skin was so warm to his touch, so supple. His hand moved over her ribs as his fingers sought her breast, but she caught his wrist with surprising force.

"I can't, Jack," she whispered, and he sensed her embarrassment. "Not with her awake, sitting in the living room, listening to every sound." A pale red light touched the fine planes of her cheekbones, a glow courtesy of his alarm clock rather than her emotional state. Her grip on his hand weakened, and he returned to caressing her back, tracing the long muscles over her shoulders, the shorter, stronger ones of her lower back. He kissed her again, then nuzzled her neck and ears. He felt her body arch toward him, want him, but her mind was in control . "Jack, I just can't." He heard pain in her voice, and he stopped moving his hand over her back and simply pulled her into his arms as he rolled on his back. "I'm sorry," she said.

"Shh." He kissed her forehead, then let his head fall on the pillow. "I understand, it's fine."

"No, it's not." He heard misery this time, and he rose up on his elbow, looking down at her in the red glow of the clock. She reached up and stroked his face. "Maybe if I get to know her a little, it won't seem so, I don't know, sordid - making love while she listens outside the door." She traced his nose with her finger. "Oh God, I want --"

He silenced her with his mouth, his tongue probing hers, his hands moving again. Instead of resistance he met capitulation. He made sure the springs didn't squeak.

Jack got up at his usual time, five-thirty, and went into the bathroom, clean underwear in hand. He shaved, showered, brushed his teeth, then slipped into his robe and tied it. He dropped his dirty underwear in the hamper, then went out to face his Minder.

She'd made coffee. She was seated at the little table in the alcove, reading The Times. She glanced up as he poured coffee and then sat across from her, pushing his damp hair off his forehead. "Good morning," she said. "All quiet on the western front?"

He nodded. He looked at her, all his intensity in his eyes. "I don't think this is going to work," he said, a statement of fact as opposed to a confrontation. "Claire isn't comfortable, knowing you're out here, awake and alert to every sound." He smiled, a crooked grin that touched Piper's heart. "She was absent the day they taught exhibitionism in moot court." He heard the bedroom door open, followed by the creaking lower hinge on the bathroom door.

"Then she'll have to adjust." She tried a smile - in her line of work, smiles were few - then said "Tell her I'm imagining wild sex whether you're doing it or not, so she might as well do it and enjoy it. Kind of like the old joke 'why is sex better before marriage than after?' Answer: because before you're married, your mother isn't sure whether you're doing it or not, but after, she knows.' So tell her to loosen up. If anything, I'm jealous, it's been a long time since I slid between the sheets with a guy."

The shower came on, and Jack glanced at the bathroom door. "So, how's this going to happen? Going to work, I mean."

She leaned back in her chair, then reached for her cup of coffee. "One of us will remain in the apartment at all times. Ditto the outside details, they'll be here until this is over. Two of us will accompany you to Hogan Place, or wherever you have to go. We'll use our cars, they're equipped with bullet proof glass and armor plating. Sorry," she said when he grimaced. "I just think reality is better in the long run, reality and honesty. That was one scary threat, Jack."

"I didn't see it." He sipped his coffee.

"It was ugly. Graphic and very scary." Her gaze went involuntarily to the closed bathroom door. The shower had stopped, and she unconsciously tensed, ready to spring at the faintest wrong sound. When the door opened, her shoulders eased. Claire, clean and sweet smelling, came into the kitchen area, still wearing her cotton pants and tee shirt. She had a hard time looking Piper's way, so she busied herself pouring coffee, then, with both chairs taken, sat in Jack's lap. His arm went around her waist as he met Piper's gaze. The threat, she'd let him know, was against Claire Kincaid, the only weak spot in his armor. Clearly, Calder or whomever he had working for him, realized hurting Claire Kincaid was a clear and certain way to get him to surrender.

Piper followed Claire into the bedroom when she went to dress. The bed was already made, Piper noted with surprise. Claire looked at her with naked suspicion as Piper leaned against the door frame, her arms crossed under her breasts. Piper let Claire feel suspicious and angry for a few seconds, then she cleared her throat and put her hands in her khaki pockets. "Wear pants," she said. "If you have to run, to move suddenly, you want to be in pants and flat heeled shoes." She watched Claire take gray pants off a hangar and lay them on the bed. "Think freedom of movement," she said, and a white oxford came out of the closet, then a black belt flew from the top shelf to the bed. Good, Piper thought, be pissed, it will keep you alert. Claire stripped down to her panties, then she put on the lacy bra she'd worn yesterday before stepping into the pants, shrugging into the shirt, buttoning it quickly and expertly. Tucking in the shirttail, she fastened her pants, then threaded the belt through the loops. She sat on the edge of the queen-sized bed to pull on cheaters, then stuffed her feet into a pair of Italian boots, lacing them with more anger than her beatific face indicated. Make up applied before she left the bathroom, all Claire had to do was pull on the black, double-breasted blazer with big ivory buttons.

"Does Jack get to dress by himself?" she asked. She was rarely angry enough to be rude, and she almost apologized, but then flared again, thinking about this woman listening to her and Jack making love. She told herself it was Piper's job, part of keeping her charges alive and safe from any threat, but she still burned at last night, at keeping herself quiet, always listening for the squeak of a spring or a groan from Jack as he whispered her name.

"Yes," she said, humor lighting her blue eyes. "I doubt you'd approve of me ogling his ass, would you?"

"Well, he is cute in his tighty whities." Claire smiled despite herself, this woman did know how to defuse a tense moment. They walked back to the living room and Jack took their place in the bedroom, leaving the door open to placate Piper.

He came out dressed in a gray suit, white shirt, and burgundy tie. Claire felt her heart skip. She loved this man like no other in her life, she couldn't imagine existing without him, without his gentle, sure touch, without his jokes, his playfulness when they were alone and no one knew or cared that he was an executive assistant district attorney and thus a Very Big Cheese. Alone they were like teenagers, drunk on loving each other, finding it impossible to keep their hands off the other. Alone they were free, but Claire hadn't realized how free until Piper Craig took over their private lives as well as their public ones, and she resented the loss. She sometimes thought she and Jack were compensating for years they might not have, for Jack was almost thirty years older than she, and while it was unspoken, the specter of his exit haunted every moment. If they crammed it all in now, maybe they wouldn't think of time they didn't have.

They were hustled into the waiting car and it sped away from the building toward Hogan Place. Claire and Jack held hands in the backseat, ignoring the agents, who did not speak. The car stopped at the back entrance of the building, and they waited while one agent scouted and the other whispered into a microphone. Then Piper nodded and they got out of the car, hurrying into their workplace.

Stares greeted them when they stepped out of the elevator. Jack had assumed his mask, and Claire tried to emulate him, to walk erect, head held high, a woman on a mission. They went straight to Jack's office and closed the door - Piper handed them off to the day team at the elevator, they would see her tonight. The new guys sat outside the office door, intimidating and proud of it. Jack picked up the Calder file from his inbox, then sank into his chair and leaned back.

"We'll get through this," he said. "You'll get so used to them you won't notice them anymore."

"If you say so." She sat on the leather couch.

Adam came in through his door. He closed it, then stood looking at them. "How'd it go last night?" he asked, leaning against the door.

"As well as could be expected," Jack said.

Adam nodded. "Fine. Check with your clerks, we still have business to conduct." He looked at Claire, evaluating her, she met his searching gaze and waited. "Don't be late for arraignments." He turned away, slipping through the private doorway and leaving them to look at each other as if to say what the hell was that? Claire was never late to arraignments. She went outside to her clerk's cubicle and leaned against his desk. Tim reached for a stack of files and gave them to her.

"Four this morning," he said. "Two rapes, one assault with a deadly weapon, one attempted murder." He smiled. "Two remands?"

She held the files against her chest, calculating Jack's mood against the severity of the crimes. She usually won these little wagers with Tim, but it was fun and harmless and only cost the guy a cup of coffee. "Two remands and one excessively high bail request," she countered. "Be back in a few minutes."

When she returned, she smiled shyly. "How do you want your coffee, Tim?"

He leaned back, surprised. Claire never lost these little bets, her intimacy with McCoy's working brain gave her a leg up. "What happened? And black, please."

"He's distracted, that ADW slipped right past him. I'll be back in a couple of minutes." She turned and stepped into the corridor. The agents on duty were still in their chairs. She paused beside the larger of the two. "I'm going down to the kiosk on one for coffee," she said. "Would you like some?"

Big Fellow started pushing himself out of the chair. Claire put a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Hey, it's in the building, relax. You guys are all over this place." He eased back into the chair, glancing at his partner for approval. Slightly Smaller Big Fellow nodded, as if to say she's right, we've wallpapered this building with agents. She stopped by her desk to get her purse, then walked to the elevator. It was busy this morning, people were everywhere, and she felt safe. She stepped into the elevator and nodded to the man in the charcoal suit and black leather briefcase. He nodded back, leaning against the elevator wall. His visitor's ID badge made her think he was a defense attorney. As the doors sealed and the car began its lurching descent, she realized if he was a defense attorney, he would have gotten off on her floor, and she fought a rising paranoia, staring at the buttons, trying to keep this irrational panic in check. The man stepped next to her, reaching for the floor buttons, then his hand whipped toward her face and the world went black.

Jack rolled his head, trying to loosen the tension in his neck. He glanced at his watch, where the hell was Claire? He got up and walked to her office, passing Tim, who was busy at his desk. He turned back to the clerk. "Where's Claire?"

Tim looked up, puzzled. "She went for coffee." He looked at his watch. "Half an hour ago."

Jack was out of the office and in the corridor with the detail agents before Tim was out of his chair. "Claire isn't back from her coffee run," he said, controlling his voice with sheer willpower. "It doesn't take half an hour to get coffee from downstairs." He stared at Big Fellow, who blanched at the venom in McCoy's voice and visions of dereliction of duty stamped all over his personnel file. He got out of his chair so fast he bumped Jack back a step.

"Where's the coffee place?" he asked, glancing at his partner, who also stood, whispering into his wrist.

"First floor lobby," Jack said, and he put his hand on the man's chest. "Find her, or I'll find you."

The next few minutes were a blur for Jack. Men in suits, women in casual attire, uniformed police officers were everywhere. Voices were raised, accusations flew, and Jack sat, paralyzed, at his desk. Adam burst in through the side door. "What happened?" he asked, standing beside Jack, who looked at Adam as if the older man spoke Greek. "Jack." Adam gripped his shoulder and squeezed. "What happened?"

"I guess she went for coffee. She and Tim have some running bet on arraignments, and she lost today." He sagged, then got control of himself. "How could those guys let her go anywhere by herself?"

Adam was furious, but he kept his voice within his normal range for Jack's sake. The last thing he wanted was Wild Bill Hickok possessing his EADA. "I'm sure she's around, Jack, maybe there was a line at the kiosk." He patted the younger man's shoulder and left, he Had Questions and he wanted to find the Agent In Charge before Jack did. He found agents congregating in the conference room; one was on the phone, one was studying a blueprint of the building, one was whispering into a radio, and one prepared to take on Adam Schiff who Had Questions and the agent knew it was his day to get a new asshole.

"Mr. Schiff," he began, "Steve Maillard, day chief -- "

"Chief of what, the Keystone Cops? Where is my ADA and how the hell did this happen? You're supposed to be protecting my people! What were your men thinking, letting her go anywhere by herself? Get the head of Protective Services over here now."

"He's on his way, Mr. Schiff." Mr. Maillard pinched his nose, then waded in to defend his people. "The building is staffed with our agents, the men thought she'd be safe, how do you snatch anyone in broad daylight in the middle of Hogan Place?" He stopped when the man who'd been on the radio touched his elbow. "What, Harper."

"There was an ambulance parked outside the emergency exit. One of our guys on the roof saw paramedics loading someone into it about an hour ago. He'd checked with dispatch when he saw it turn into the alley, they confirmed sending one for a possible coronary on two."

"Did it arrive at Hudson MC?" Adam asked, glaring at the earnest young man, who trembled under Adam's contained fury.

"No," young Harper whispered. "And uniforms just found the bodies of the crew, shot and stripped, behind the utility parking garage."

"Adam!" Jack came up and Adam didn't need to look at him to know he was on the edge of losing it. He turned and put a hand on Jack's elbow. "Adam, she's gone and these assholes let it happen. I wonder how much Calder paid them to let her go off by herself."

"Hey!" Mr. Maillard said, stepping forward. "How dare you --"

"How dare you!" Jack took a step toward the shorter man, and Adam gripped his elbow, restraining him, fisticuffs on the tenth floor wouldn't help anything. Jack tried to shake Adam's hand, he was going to clean this agent's clock, and then more hands were on his arms, strong hands, and a reassuring voice murmured in his ear.

"Easy, Counselor."

Jack looked at Rey Curtis, who held his arm, ready to twist it up his back if necessary. Lennie Briscoe had moved to his other side, easing Adam out of the way as he, too, put Jack in a prepatory position. "C'mon, Counselor, decking this guy isn't going to help us find Claire." Rey continued speaking in soft, reasonable tones, belying the grip he had on Jack's elbow. Jack looked at Agent Maillard, who couldn't hide his fear, and then at Adam, who could.

"Take him in my office," Adam said. "And stay with him." He turned his attention back to the PS agents as Jack was walked to his office. "Get me facts, now, and know, just for your own personal safety, that I'm not going to restrain him much longer." He took a step, then looked back. "My office, five minutes, full report."

Jack was on the couch, flanked by the detectives, his face in his hands. Adam thought he was planning a way to take them both out and escape. The older man pulled a chair across the carpet and put it in front of Jack, then sat, gently pulling Jack's hands away from his face. They looked at each other for a long minute, then Jack sagged, sinking back into the couch. "He got her, Adam." The anguish in his voice was heartbreaking.

"Yes, he did," Adam said. "He's a very smart man, with some very smart people in his pocket, along with a lot of his father's money." Michael Calder, New York's own Jack the Ripper, was a wealthy psychopath, it didn't take much to find able men willing to do anything for a few bucks. "And we need to find out how he contacted them, how he transferred money, where they might have taken her. I need you to think, Jack, Claire needs you to think."

Jack rubbed his face, then looked at Adam and nodded. "I'll go out to Rikers, have a chat with Mr. Calder."

"No, let these detectives do that. I need you here."

The door opened, for a brief second the controlled pandemonium in the outer offices and corridors blew into Adam's quiet inner space, then Anita Van Buren closed the heavy door and silence returned. She walked over to the men and jerked her head at Lennie. He got up and she sat beside Jack. She put her hand on his knee. "Jack." He looked at her. "We'll find her."

The door opened again, and Mr. Maillard came in, a legal pad in hand. He cautiously approached the District Attorney and his wounded EADA. Consulting his notes, he faced his hostile audience. "As best we can determine, she was snatched by three men pretending to be paramedics. Witnesses saw them wheeling someone out on a gurney through the second floor temporary ramp." The second floor was undergoing renovations, it was a prime spot for a little solitary kidnapping, he thought, and a prime spot for us to keep under surveillance. He focused, thoughts on career suicide could come later. "We found the ambulance crew, dead, not far from here. That's all we know on this end." He shrugged helplessly. "Who is this man, that he can control people and events from jail?"

Jack looked at him, loathing him, wanting to rearrange his genitalia. "He's a wealthy, charismatic man who likes torturing and killing young women when he's not pulling off burglaries of jewelry stores and store vaults. He has a crew who works with him on the burglaries, he's made them rich, and he's kept them out of prison by meticulous planning and execution. We know all of this, but we can't do anything without evidence. We got him on the Ripper murders because one of his victims scratched him - he apparently didn't notice because he didn't clean her fingernails - but that's the only killing we can directly tie him to. And now he has Claire." His voice trailed off. "He knows we - I - will freeze without her."

"And the speedy trial motion will sink this prosecution," Van Buren finished his sentence. "With jeopardy attached."

Adam grunted. "I'll get a continuance, Harley can take over."

Jack looked at him, for a moment Adam thought he was going to cry, but a supreme act of will kept the tears at bay. "We have to find Claire, Adam, the hell with a trial, we have to find her."

"We're on it, Counselor," Van Buren said. "We'll find her."

"But how will you find her," he said, and his meaning was clear - would they find her dead, or mutilated, or would they find her before some sadist worked her over. He looked at the floor and then his tears did come. He didn't care who saw Jack McCoy cry like a broken-hearted boy. Anita Van Buren put her arms around him and absorbed the full force of his agony.

Claire didn't know where she was. She struggled back to consciousness, with a terrible headache, becoming aware of her body in stages. The headache was horrible, and that connected to her stomach, which threatened to spew. Then she was cold, and she felt rough concrete against bare skin, and she realized she was naked and lying on a floor. Finally she knew her hands were chained to a wall, and she remembered. She'd been in an elevator with an attorney in a dark suit, only she remembered knowing he wasn't an attorney and…She opened her eyes. She was lying on a floor in a large, high-ceilinged room, with a painted window high above her. Debris littered the rough concrete floor, and where there was trash, there were bugs and rats and she did heave then, but her stomach was empty. Painful dry heaves wracked her body. She hurt all over, more and more as awareness returned. She heard laughter, coming closer, and she stared at the door, fighting panic.

It opened slowly, screeching as only metal on metal can. She was helpless, lying naked on her back, her arms extended above her head, in so much pain she thought she'd be crazy soon. Two men came in, dressed in black sweatsuits, black sneakers, carrying a black bag. They made no effort to hide their faces, Claire realized, and she had to retch again - she was going to die, but before she did, they were going to play with her.

"So pretty," the one carrying the satchel murmured, kneeling beside her, caressing her face. She tried to twist away. He backhanded her, viciously, her vision went dark for a second before returning in blurry focus. He touched her in places that were Jack's to touch, and when she heaved, he sat back on his haunches and laughed. He looked at her, pitiless, then knelt between her knees. She tried to kick him - he gripped both knees and squeezed, sending hot pain shooting up her legs. Then he slapped her again. The human mind couldn't handle two sources of simultaneous pain, it would choose one to override the other, and for Claire, it chose the jaw breaking slap to blot out the horror of rape. She had no idea how long the violation lasted, only that they both did it, taking pleasure in hurting her. When that was over, she saw a flash of silver, felt burning pain on the inside of her thighs, passed out.

Regaining consciousness, she knew she was alone again, in the darkness of night. She was cold, she knew she was in shock, and the pain - she pleaded with God, the universe, someone or something for a return to unconsciousness. Jack, she cried, Jack help me.

They returned in the night, Coleman lanterns dangling from their hands. They set the lanterns down on either side of her, then stood at her feet, staring at her, weighing their options. The quieter one cleared his throat. "I dunno, Speed, it's such a waste to carve up a beautiful face."

The one he called Speed pulled a hunting knife from a sheath in his other hand, dropping the leather case as he caressed the blade. He squatted between her knees. She was too weak to move, and he knew it. He winked at her. She thought he was going to rape her again, but he leaned forward and drew the knife from her wrist to her armpit, a shallow but painful cut, then did it to the other arm. Kneeling back, he studied the blood flow, how it ran into her hair, her ears, over her shoulders. "We need a little music, Hank."

Hank turned away and left the room, returning with a boom box. Speed positioned it beside Claire's head and pushed play. "A CD I made," he said, "music to contemplate as you feel me carve graffiti on your beautiful body." Cyndi Lauper flooded the room, Time After Time, a song she'd always associated with Jack. He knew that, she realized, somehow he knew that intensely private association. He grinned. "Oh yes, we know you well, Claire. Psychologically as well as Biblically." He drew the knife blade across her abdomen, too lightly to draw blood. "We've been planning this for a long time. Your lover isn't coming to save you, but that's no reason not to let you remember him." He sang with the chorus, if you fall I will catch you I'll be waiting time after time. "Were you even born when that song came out? Shame on your Jack, robbing the cradle, taking advantage of your youth and inexperience." He rose up on his knees, putting the knife aside. "Now you're going to associate that song with me, with our special time together. No, I'm not gentle the way he is, am I? What's the point in that?"

She closed her eyes, trying to shut it all out, crying for Jack as he violated her again.

Jack was stretched out on his office couch, left forearm across his eyes, listening to the activity around him. Voices, men on phones, conferring with each other, talking about Claire. He was helpless. Adam had forbidden him to do anything, telling him they must let strangers handle it, men who didn't know Claire, who had never held her in their arms, loved her, whispered to her, been loved back. A doctor had come, Jack's sleeve had been rolled up, there was a sting and then chemically induced apathy. It was all he could do to stay awake on this couch, the drug in his bloodstream wanted to seduce him into sleep, into dreams he couldn't handle, dreams of Claire, lying beneath him, looking at him with complete trust. She would never look at him like that again, not when he had failed to protect her. He moved his arm, letting daylight hurt his eyes, wanting pain, at least it told him he was still alive. Was she? And then he heard it, faintly but distinctly, Claire calling his name, in agony, needing him, wanting him, and then her favorite song swelled up to cover her cries, time after time. He covered his eyes again, these men must not see him cry.

The office door opened and the room fell silent. For a fraction of second he thought Claire must have walked in, then Rey Curtis's voice destroyed that embryonic hope. "OK, we found something," he said. "It may be meaningless, but it's all we have."

Jack struggled upright and looked at the detective. Always well-dressed, Rey looked like a different man in his rumpled suit pants, open collar, tie undone, a coffee stain on his shirt. "Calder's father used to own a holding company, a place to hide some of his assets, it manufactured and sold tacky household stuff." He wiped his face with the back of his hand, then looked at his partner. "There's still a warehouse down near the river. The city condemned it not long after Calder senior died, but they haven't gotten around to demolishing it. It's all we have."

Lennie patted his shoulder. "It's a hell of a lot more than we had five minutes ago. How'd you find it?"

Rey sagged, his resources diminishing by the minute. They'd been at this for twenty-four hours and he was about to crash. "I called the IRS," he said, "looking for any property connected in any way to the Calder family. They finally came up with this."

Jack got to his feet, staggering; Piper Craig caught his arm. He looked at her, then yanked his arm away. "We have to go," he said, focusing on Rey. Rey would understand, Rey and Lennie. Claire was not an abstraction for them.

"Jack," Lennie said, gently taking his arm and guiding him back to the couch. "You're not in any shape to go anywhere."

"I have to," he said. "I have to."

Lennie looked at Rey, who shrugged. "He is her…" Rey turned as Adam walked in. He looked from Jack to Rey to the agents standing around. "Friend," Rey finished. Adam pinned the detective with an inquisitive glare, and Rey told him what he'd found.

"Go," Adam said, "now." He put a hand on Jack's shoulder. "Look at me, son." Jack looked up at him, hope battling with despair in his eyes. "Go with them, but stay out of their way. If they find Claire, if you can help her, then you can go in with them. Do you understand?" He asked the question gently. "You have to let them do what they do best, Jack, and it might be a false lead." He helped Jack stand, then looked at Rey Curtis. "If he doesn't do what you tell him, handcuff him to a car."

Claire heard them coming. Speed and Hank wore street clothes, but the knife glinted in the light. "Sweet Claire," Speed said, mocking one of Jack's endearments. "We're going to have to go, the rescue squad is on the way. I'm supposed to kill you, but I think it's far more interesting to let you torture yourself." He walked to her bruised, broken body, studying his handiwork. "I'll see you again, Sweet Claire, just to prove I can. You're not safe, ever. Your Jack has proven he can't protect you, Special Services can't protect you, there's nowhere to hide. Maybe, just maybe, if you let my brother loose -" he bit his tongue, he'd made a mistake, but then he shrugged it off, why punish himself when he could punish her? He kicked the hell out of her and she cried out. "Soon, sweet Claire, I promise you." He turned and left her in the diffused light coming through the painted window.

Her brain was shutting down. Too many stimuli - pain, violation, fear, revulsion - she began a slow retreat from the reality of a floor that sliced her flesh to ribbons if she moved, from the scent and sensation of her blood mixed with urine and foreign semen, her mind wanted to go to a warm dark place where she could hide, where she could be safe from men who wanted to hurt her. She heard noises, far away and insistent, men, shouting, banging, running. Somehow she picked one voice out the many, a cracked, pained voice calling her name, and she stopped her slow retreat, hoping it was real and not that sicko Speed tormenting her again.

The door flew open, two men charged in, weapons drawn. They saw her, and one of them shouted "Damn it to hell!" before holstering his weapon and coming to her, yanking his coat off as he walked. He covered her as best he could with his coat, then stroked her forehead, as gently as a father with his little girl. It was Rey Curtis, or she thought it was, her eyes were swollen and she couldn't be sure. Then Lennie was there, and his coat joined Rey's, covering her from strange eyes.

"Jack," she whispered.

"He's here, he's coming," Rey said, brushing her filthy hair away from her swollen black eyes.

"Should he see me like this?" Her voice was cracking, she was so thirsty, and then a man pushed Rey and Lennie out of the way and knelt beside her. He wanted to touch her but he was afraid to, afraid of hurting her. "Jack," she whispered, and he put his ear to her mouth. "Help me, Jack, don't let those men look at me, don't let them hurt me, it hurts so much."

"Where are the fucking paramedics?" Jack looked around at the people milling around on the fringe of this horrific scene. He looked at Rey. "Get those damned things off her."

"Uh, Mr. McCoy, we have to take crime scene photographs."

Jack looked at the young Special Services agent. "Try to photograph her and I will remove your head from your shoulders. Rey, do it." All traces of the tranquilizer he'd been given hours ago were gone. Rey sent a uniform for the bolt cutters kept in squad car trunks, then he and Lennie stood as a human shield between Jack and Claire and the prying eyes of others. Jack was whispering to Claire behind them; Piper Craig took a step toward them and Rey shifted his weight, warning her away.

"I have to talk to her, Detective," she said.

"Not now," he said. The young uniform came back with bolt cutters and Rey took them, expertly cutting the chains and bolts, freeing Claire's hands and arms. Jack gently rubbed them, avoiding the slices in her flesh, keeping his rage secured in a compartment in his brain, to be dealt with later. Paramedics came in, pushing a gurney, and still Rey and Lennie stood guard. Jack squatted beside her as they worked on her, holding her torn hand. They hooked her to an IV, gave her a shot of morphine, then gently got her on a body board and up on the gurney, covering her with blankets before strapping her down. Jack walked out with them, still holding her hand, into the ambulance and to Hudson MC.

The morphine was a gift from the God she knew had deserted her over the past hours, and she embraced it, the cessation of pain, let it carry her to that safe place where strange men couldn't find her and hurt her. She knew Jack was there, holding her hand, and she knew she could let go for a little while. She didn't sleep, but she did drift as the ambulance sped toward the hospital, her hand in Jack's, she felt like she was anchored to reality as long as he was there. Then the vehicle stopped, the doors flew open, her gurney was moved from the comforting semi-darkness of the ambulance and into blinding sunlight. Jack's hand slipped away from hers and she screamed his name, afraid he'd been ripped away from her by Speed and his crew, that this was all more of the same sick joke designed to torment her. She was jostled as paramedics hustled her inside, past curious patients waiting to be seen, into triage and out without pausing, coming to rest in a brightly lit curtained cubicle. She was transferred from the gurney to a hard examining table and then Jack was there again. Men and women in scrubs surrounded her, blocking her view of Jack, but she knew he was there. She was washed, gently but thoroughly, and a nasty smelling liquid applied to her cuts before bandages were wrapped, taped, secured. Fingers probed her ribs, opened her swollen eyes to shine a light in them, her battered jaw was checked, so many hands touching her, and then her legs were opened and she screamed again for Jack, not again, don't let them hurt me, and he was holding her, whispering in her ear, telling her they didn't want to hurt her but the rape kit had to be done, so when they got the bastards he could nail their foreskins to the wall.

She was taken to x-ray, for a CAT scan of her head, an MRI was done of her trunk, and then she was in a hospital room, six of New York's largest cops outside her door. More morphine was injected into her IV line, and then she was alone with Jack. He sat beside her bed, his arm snaked through the bed rails, his hand covering hers. She looked at him, knowing how bad she looked, and she felt worse. He said nothing, she was in charge, he would follow her lead. She didn't want to talk, she wanted to lie quietly with Jack beside her, keeping Speed and Hank from getting near her again. Then she slept.

An hour later the door opened. Jack's head shot up and he glared at Piper Craig, then gently took his hand from Claire's. He stopped Piper from coming any closer. She looked at him, understanding his pain and rage, his desire to hurt someone like Claire had been hurt, but she had a job to do. "Jack," she whispered, "I have to talk to her."

"No. Not now. Let her sleep."

She sighed. "You know as well as I do the drugs are going to erode her memories, I need to talk to her before that happens."

He frowned. "Best thing that could happen to her."

She tugged his sleeve, leading him into the hall, where she could speak in a normal tone without fear of her head being separated from her shoulders. They sat in chairs in an alcove with a drink machine. "Jack. I've read the preliminary medical reports, we're talking repeated rape, torture cuts, beatings. I want to find these bastards, and she's the only one who knows who they are, what they look like. You can be right there, but you know what I have to do. If it was anyone but Claire Kincaid, we wouldn't be having this discussion, you'd be right there with me trying to get answers before it's too late."

He knew she was right, but he still didn't want to permit it. He got up, fished in his pocket for some change, and got a Diet Coke from the vending machine. He offered it to her, she declined. Then he sat down again, the uberprosecutor battling the protective lover within his tormented soul. "If I let you do this, you'll stop when I tell you to?"

"I'll try to respect your wishes, but let's get down to brass tacks - you're not her husband, you can't stop me from doing my job to the best of my ability."

"I'm the DA, I can do anything I damn well please. Just try me."

"Mr. McCoy?" One of the officers filled the doorway. "Uh, sir, she's screaming for you."

Jack shot out of the little alcove and across the hall, hearing her screams, and he plowed through the door. "Claire." He took her hand again, wanting to climb in bed with her and really hold her. He stroked her hair, her undamaged jaw, her ear.

She'd gone quiet when she saw him. Now tears filled her eyes and he blotted them with great care with a Kleenex. "Don't leave me, Jack, please don't leave me, he said he'd come back, that I would never be safe, don't leave me, please."

"No, I won't leave you," he said, picking up her delicate hand and kissing it.

"Who said he'd come back?" Piper's tone was soft, non-threatening, but Jack wheeled on her. "Down, Jack," she said, and came to the other side of the bed. "Can you talk to me, Claire?" When she saw Claire trying to focus through those swollen eyes, she said "It's Piper, do you remember me?"

"Yes," Claire said. "I'll talk to you." She squeezed Jack's hand.

"What can you tell me about the people who snatched you?" Piper had a digital voice recorder out and she put it on the table across Claire's legs.

She closed her eyes, calling up memory. "His friend called him Speed. I saw him in the elevator when I went down for coffee, I thought he was an attorney and then I realized he wasn't, he didn't get off on the right floor. Then everything went black and I woke up in that room." She shivered, and Jack pulled the blanket up to her shoulders. "He came in with a guy he called Hank. He hit me, I think he broke my jaw -" a hand went up to the black and blue swollen thing that used to be her jaw, that wouldn't move the way she wanted it to so she could get this over with, tell this investigator what happened. She looked at Jack.

"It's not broken," Piper said, "I just saw the radiology report. Then what?"

"Then he raped me, and then Hank did. They kept coming back, and each time he'd cut me when they were finished, or hit me. I was on a concrete floor, and every time I moved it would cut me." Tears filled her eyes again, and she closed her eyes, but they spilled down her face anyway. Jack blotted them. "Then the police showed up."

Piper felt great compassion for this young woman, and admiration for her strength. She knew telling a story like this was painful, humiliating, soul destroying. "What did they look like?"

Claire described them, then added, "Speed is Michael Calder's brother, I think." She repeated what he'd said as best she could. "Jack, he knew so many private things between us, like Sweet Claire and how Time After Time is my favorite song, and he knew you guys were coming."

Jack nodded, then gave Piper a hard stare, which softened as soon as he looked at Claire again. "Bugging," he said. "My office, my apartment no doubt. We've never thought to debug the place," he said, referring to the office, "but anyone could have gotten in at night, posing as the cleaning crew."

Claire didn't appear to hear. "He said, he mocked," she broke off, turning her face away from him. He waited, if she wanted to tell him he would listen, but he suspected whatever it was would hurt them both. "When he - he raped me, he said he wasn't as gentle as you were so I'd remember him better. He hurt me, he wanted to erase your - God, Jack, how did he know how we made love?"

Jack closed his eyes, struggling for control. If they'd bugged his apartment they'd no doubt installed cameras, too, a grand plan with humiliation at its foundation. And that woman was listening, recording Claire's most private pain. He grabbed the recorder and would have erased this dreadful recounting but Piper moved too fast, taking it from him before he knew what happened. "You are not putting that in a report, Piper." He glanced back at Claire before turning his fury on the agent who was supposed to protect them. "You are not taking the last of her dignity."

"No, I'm not," she said, softly, she did her own transcribing but the interview would have to be made available to defense counsel. She knew they knew that, or at least Jack did at the moment, she wasn't sure what Claire knew. "I have enough to work with for now, I'll leave you." She jerked her head toward the door, asking Jack to come with her. He was rooted in place. "Jack," she said.

"Claire?" Her eyes opened, little slits of white and brown in furious black balloons. "I'm going right outside, I swear that I'll be on the other side of the door."

A note of panic tinged her voice. "She can say it in front of me. It happened to me, after all." She tried to sit up but a cry of pain cut that move off and she fell back on the mattress. "Please don't leave me."

"I won't." He stared at Piper. "Go ahead."

She couldn't say this in front of Claire - that a promise to come for Claire while she was hospitalized had been emailed to the DA's office, copied to the two seven's Lieutenant Van Buren. "I was just going to say that the lieutenant commanding the two seven has taken this very personally and she wanted you to know that security was going to be high - her own people, she made a point of saying."

"Good," Jack answered. "Your people don't know their ass from their elbow."

"You know how sorry I am, Jack. Those men are in serious trouble." She looked at Claire, whose breathing had slowed, she appeared to be sleeping. She moved closer to Jack, leaning forward. He tilted his head down and she whispered in his ear, repeating the threat. Finished, her voice rose to its normal tone. "I'm going to run down Calder's family, get moving on this lead. I'll be back if I learn anything, otherwise I'll see you tomorrow."

Jack was reeling from her whispered secret. "Do you have people at my apartment?"

"I do. I'll have the electronics team go over it right now." She met his gaze, thinking the same thing - what better way to humiliate, to drive these superb attorneys from their jobs than to put video of their intimate moments out in video store porn sections? "I'm going to get the bastards, Jack, I make that promise to Claire."

"I'd prefer the detectives of the two seven have that honor. They're excellent shots."

She shrugged and left him alone with his broken lover. She wondered if Claire would ever heal from this, she'd known stronger women who didn't, but those women didn't have Jack McCoy sharing their lives. He was a man on a mission now, with all the resources of law enforcement at his disposal, and she just hoped he didn't cross the line. The elevator doors opened and she scrutinized the faces of the men, especially the two getting off. As soon as she recognized them as Briscoe and Curtis, she stepped inside and watched them as the doors closed.

Briscoe and Curtis stopped outside Claire's room, submitting to the thorough inspection of their ID's despite knowing the cops. As Lennie put his credentials back in his jacket pocket, he asked "How's it going?"

The young man shrugged. "She had a screaming fit when McCoy left her alone a little while ago." He rolled his eyes. "Like she's coming unglued, ya know?"

"And what," Rey Curtis said, moving within inches of the smaller man, "else would you expect, considering what she's gone through? Think she should be chipper and gracious, throwing tea parties for the nurses and protective detail?"

"Hey, Detective Curtis, I didn't mean nothing by it, just that she's shaky, ya know?"

"I know the Loo told you already, but let me emphasize it - whatever you might see or hear relating to that brutalized Assistant District Attorney will not leave your lips. If any rumor or story gets back to me from this detail, I will personally castrate you. Are we clear on that?"

"Yeah, sure, geez, you'd think she was your girlfriend, instead of McCoy's."

Rey slammed him against the wall, holding his arms to his sides. "Now see, that's what I'm talking about. You don't know that she's McCoy's girlfriend but there you are, spreading a rumor."

"All right, Jesus, Curtis." He rubbed his arms when Rey released him, then looked at his comrades. "And thanks a lot for standing up for me, guys."

One of them regarded him like a loathsome bug. "You talk about Kincaid and I'll help Detective Curtis throw you down a stairwell."

"C'mon," Lennie said, knocking quietly on the door. "The last thing you want is McCoy coming out to see what's going on."

Rey straightened his tie. "Just so long as Parker understands where I'm coming from." McCoy opened the door about six inches, then stepped back when he saw the detectives. They walked into the room and waited for him to close the door and precede them to Claire's bedside. "How is she, McCoy?"

"Sleeping. Best thing for her right now." He gestured to two straight-backed chairs against the wall. When they were seated, he resumed his place where Claire could see him if she opened her eyes. "Tell me about this new threat."

"Anonymous server relay," Rey said. "To the point - tell Sweet Claire I'll be by to see her in the hospital, Speed. Is Speed one of the guys who grabbed her?"

McCoy nodded. "It seems he's Michael Calder's brother."

"Were you going to tell us that anytime soon, Jack?" Lennie yanked his notebook out of his pocket.

"I just found out. Piper Craig came by to question Claire."

"We saw her at the elevators." Lennie clicked his pen and made a note. "Who's got the juice, Counselor? Us, or Special Services and their renowned Protective branch?"

"You do. I want these guys, Lennie."

"I know you do. We'll get him. Van Buren's authorized overtime for everyone." He made another note, to tell Van Buren to transfer the punk outside to Staten Island.

Rey leaned forward, his concern palpable. "Is she going to be OK, Jack?"

"I don't know." He shook his head. He'd aged five years in the last two days, Rey thought. He looked at Claire - the beautiful young woman he'd liked and admired was unrecognizable. She whimpered in her sleep and three sets of eyes focused on her, but she lapsed back into deep sleep. "It's going to take a long time to heal." He stared at them. "Once you have the bastards, she can start the process."

"Can you tell us what she told Ms. Craig?" Lennie held his pen over his pad. Jack related most everything Claire said to Piper, Lennie's hand flew over the page. "That it?" he said when Jack finished. When Jack nodded, he closed his notebook and stood. "We'll start chasing him now. We'll let you know if anything turns up."

Lennie and Rey were quiet on the way out of the hospital, busy searching faces, watching body language. Seated in their car, Rey turned the key. "You gonna get that wiseass kid busted or am I?"

"I am." Lennie thumped the dashboard. "Young and stupid needs a hard lesson."

Van Buren was in her office when they walked in. They hung their coats on the back of their chairs, then Rey picked up the phone. "I'm gonna run Calder's family."

Lennie nodded and walked into Van Buren's office, closing the door. He told her about the kid, Parker, and she frowned. "I'll replace him at once," she said. "How's McCoy holding up?"

"Not well. His reserves are about gone, but he won't leave her, and I think she'd lose it if he did. Think we ought to let Adam Schiff know?"

"Yeah. Maybe he'll send Olivet over." She leaned back in her desk chair, tapping a pencil on her knee. "CSU sent over their report on the warehouse, I put it on your desk, maybe you'll find something useful in it."

He stood. "I'm on it."

She watched him for a second, then picked up the phone and punched the DA's office. It took a minute, but then she was talking to Mr. Schiff. She explained what the young officer had seen, then what he said. "My detectives say Jack's running on empty, Mr. Schiff."

"I'm sure he is, but only God himself could pry him away from her. I'll see what I can do, Lieutenant, thank you for your call."

Anita hung up, then got up, standing in her doorway, watching her best detectives work. She had officers all over the streets, listening, asking questions, flashing cash for leads. She'd seen a lot of brutal crimes during her career, but this one somehow made the others look like the work of amateurs. These people wanted to destroy a young woman, and for all she knew, had succeeded, but more than that, they'd wanted to do the impossible: destroy Jack McCoy, and it looked like they'd done the job.

Jack woke from a light sleep during the night. Both he and Claire had been sedated, and a cot brought in for him. He assured Claire he would be right there, sleeping beside her bed; she'd waked once and called his name. He promptly stood by her bedside, his hand on top of her head, whispering reassurance, and she'd faded back into sleep. Now it wasn't Claire's voice that woke him but a sound in the hall. He threw back the hospital blanket and crept to the door, listening for the noise to repeat itself. He heard the cops in the hall talking, softly, heard the scrape of a chair on linoleum as somebody moved. All was as well as it could be, and he returned to Claire, watching her sleep in the faint light of her monitors. He brushed the top of her head, afraid to make enough contact to wake her. She was nothing but bruises, her beauty obscured by swollen, blackened tissue and stark white bandages. I will help you heal, he promised, we will get through this, and we will make the sadist known as Speed pay.

The door opened and he spun around, ready for whatever threat came out of the darkness. It was a nurse, carrying a small metal tray, her special ID badge dangling from her collar. "Mr. McCoy," she whispered. "The policemen agreed it was better not to knock, don't want to wake her if I don't have to." She consulted the chart on her tray, then took Claire's vitals while Jack scrutinized her every move. She noted the data on the chart, then picked up a capped hypodermic and grabbed the feed site on the IV tube.

"What is that?" McCoy asked, too sharply.

"Antibiotics," she said, not offended. She brought the chart and the syringe to him, clicking on the pen light she carried in a pocket so he could read it. The medicinal orders and the label on the syringe matched, and he sighed. "It's OK, Mr. McCoy, I'd be suspicious, too." She injected the medicine into the IV line. "This stuff will kill anything she might have been exposed to." She picked up another syringe, offering it to him for inspection. He shook his head. "This is another wide spectrum antibiotic, targeted toward STDs." When his eyes widened, she looked at him as she depressed the plunger and sent more medicine into Claire. "No one explained this to you?"

He shook his head. "They might have, I don't think I'm hearing everything that's said to me."

"It's just precautionary, all rape victims are put on antibiotics against STDs. In her case, given her open wounds and the filth she was lying in, other antibiotics are prudent." She came and stood beside him. "Mr. McCoy, a decision has to be made, soon, as to whether or not administer the morning after pill. We don't know if she's on the pill or not, but the side effects of this drug can be unpleasant. We have until four this morning to make the decision, which is no decision if there's no one to authorize it." She shrugged. "I think, and Dr. McGowan agrees, that you have the moral right to make that decision, if not the legal one. Do you know if she's on the pill?"

He stroked Claire's head. "Yes. I mean, yes I know, and yes she is." He looked at the nurse. "But she would have missed three. She always took them at night. Does that make a difference?"

She put a hand on his arm. "It does, unfortunately." She reached for one of the chairs the detectives used and sat down, gesturing for Jack to join her. "I'm Dorothy, by the way, I'm the charge nurse for the night shift." She crossed her legs and absently rubbed her knee. "The side effects - if conception took place, there will be cramping, heavy bleeding, perhaps some nausea. If conception didn't occur, there will still be some heavy bleeding, but the cramps and nausea won't be a big issue. It's not pleasant if the pill does its job, but a lot less unpleasant than a pregnancy by your rapist, having to deal with a termination." She sighed. "How would she feel about you making decisions for her?"

He rubbed his eyes. "I can do it. Hell, I can get a court order right now if it's needed. Give her the drugs, I don't want her dealing with that particular issue on top of everything else."

She got up. "I'll call Dr. McGowan. Maybe you should get that court order, just in case, cover all our asses."

He nodded. He hadn't thought of this particular aspect of it all, and he would spare her as much pain as possible. He reached for the phone. Incoming calls to Claire's room were blocked on Adam's order, but he could make outgoing ones. He looked at his watch, it was one in the morning. He punched Adam's number, thinking sorry old man but there's nothing for it. Adam picked up on the second ring. "Adam, it's Jack. I'm sorry to wake you --"

"What is it? Is Claire OK?"

"She's sleeping right now. Adam, I need a court order, right now, allowing me to authorize the administration of the morning after drug. What judges are sitting on night court?"

"Oh Christ," Adam said. "I hadn't thought about that, I guess I assumed she was on the pill, because you didn't say anything. Night court," he mumbled. "Barnett is sitting night court this week, he always liked Claire."

"Good. One more thing, Adam. I can't leave her -"

"Yes, I know. I'll go down. Hang on." Jack heard the phone hit wood, heard Adam shuffling something, heard him say Claire Kincaid to his wife, and then he was back. "OK, Harry Barnett is going to want to know the nature of your relationship - then he's going to want to know why you think this is necessary, is she really at risk for a pregnancy. I can handle everything else that might come up. So what are the answers to those questions?"

"Tell him the truth, that we're involved. And that she missed three days of birth control pills, and," he fell silent, thinking, remembering when her last period was, "that if the birth control pills fail, and the doctors seem to think there's a good chance they have, this is the middle of her cycle. She's twenty-seven years old, Adam, you know as well as I do that youth equals fertility." He closed his eyes for a moment, then resumed his hushed tones, he did not want Claire to wake and hear him talking about her periods and pregnancy and pills to end any chance of conception. "Tell him whatever it takes to get that order, please."

"I will. Get some rest, I'll come by the hospital when I have the CO." He hung up, and Jack sat, holding the receiver and staring at nothing. Courts were loathe to give someone power over another person's body, but the holdings were there, it had been done, and in this case, it was necessary. Claire was not capable of giving informed consent, he would have to make decisions for her.

"Jack?" She was calm. He got up and leaned on the bed, taking her hand. "Jack, you're upset, what is it?"

"Hush, babe. Everything's fine." He leaned over and lightly kissed her forehead.

"It's not," she said, trying to see his face in the dim light. Then she sighed, it was too much effort, whatever it was, she trusted him to take care of it. Her eyes closed again and she drifted away as he watched her.

An hour later the door opened and Dr. McGowan and Dorothy came in. Jack shook hands with the doctor, then waited. McGowan went to Claire and checked her out as unobtrusively as possible. Satisfied, he returned to Jack and Dorothy. "You've decided?" he asked Jack.

"Yes. Do it."

"Dorothy said you would get a court order?"

"It's on the way."

"Then I'll wait for it." He sat in one of the chairs. "It covers our asses."

Jack sat down, more tired than he'd been in his life. He hoped Adam got there soon, he wanted this problem resolved. Dorothy sat near him, a comforting presence. "Will she heal, doctor?" he asked.

"Physically, yes, she'll be fine in a matter of weeks. Emotionally, we're talking a whole different ball game. Typically, rape victims spend months, years, feeling vulnerable, insecure, subject to mood swings, clingy and then distant. Sexually, they're terrified - she'll push you away if you want more than holding her, stop seeing you as Jack and see you instead as a man, part of the species that hurt her so much. You're going to need counseling as much as she does. It's not easy being the victim's lover. You'll be the target of all her anger one minute, the next she'll want you to hold her and protect her from the things that go bump in the night."

"Whatever it takes," he said.

"Are you certain she'll be OK with you making this decision?"

"Yes."

"Why."

Jack realized the doctor was making sure of Jack's reasons; he knew it was a sound decision, but he wasn't making it for the woman he loved, and he wanted to be sure Jack had explored all the issues. "I'm sure because I know she loves me and trusts me. She's very much pro-choice, when we've prosecuted rapists she's always said the woman had the absolute right to terminate the pregnancy - in fact, she worked pro bono for one woman, whose rapist took her to court to prevent her from terminating the pregnancy. Claire won that one." He looked at her, sleeping on her back, her arms by her sides. He would keep the soundest reason to himself unless he was asked specifically. Then he looked at Dr. McGowan. "It's the right decision. She can't give informed consent and you know it. I'm the person closest to her, so I accept the responsibility for making this choice on her behalf. I know how she feels."

The door opened and Adam came in. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust. "Jack?"

"Here, Adam." Jack got up and walked to his superior. "Did you get it?"

"Yes. Judge Barnett asked more questions than I anticipated, but in the end, his horror over the situation carried the day." He pulled a trifold blueback from his inner coat pocket and put it in Jack's hand. "Are you certain this isn't going to be an emotional issue later?"

"I'm sure." He unfolded the blueback, checked the language of the order and the signature, squinting in the light, then took it to Dr. McGowan. "It's all legal now."

The doctor got up and reached into his lab coat pocket for a syringe. Adam came up behind Jack, who stood by the bed, his hands on the rails. Then Claire opened her eyes, looking at Jack, seeing Adam. "Adam?" she croaked. "Why are you here in the middle of the night?"

"Bluebacks," he said, then patted Jack on the shoulder. "I'll see you soon. Go back to sleep, Claire, I'm sorry I disturbed you." He walked away, the light from the corridor cutting a wide swath in the semi-dark room.

Claire reached for Jack. He took her hand. "What is it, Jack?" She was calm, but she wanted to know what was going on.

Jack looked across the bed at Dr. McGowan, then sighed. He'd always told Claire the truth, he didn't see this as a big deal, but in her fragile state she might react in any number of ways. "Do you trust me, Claire?" She nodded. "Then trust me, know that I'm doing what's best for you right now. Dr. McGowan is about to give you the morning after pill."

"Shot, actually," Dr. McGowan said.

Claire flicked her eyes toward him, then back at Jack. "Oh," she said. "Oh God, I didn't even think about that. Do it," she said, "do it now." Jack met the doctor's level gaze and nodded. Dr. McGowan stuck the needle in the IV feed and pushed the plunger. Then he snapped the needle off the syringe and dropped both in the hazardous material disposal box on the wall. He paused by Claire, then patted her shoulder and told her he'd see her early in the morning on rounds. He and Dorothy left, and Jack and Claire looked at each other. "You could have told me," she said, softly. "At least I'd be prepared if bad stuff happens."

"True," he said, "but you aren't capable of giving informed consent right now, I didn't want to complicate things for you by introducing an emotional issue."

"Wait a second." Her lawyer's brain was still present and accounted for, even if it was sneaking a smoke in the girls' bathroom. "You can't legally consent to anything for me."

He smiled, his first real smile in two and a half days. He reached for the blueback on the table and held it up. "Oh yes I can. I'm a DA, I can do anything."

"Is that a blueback?" she asked. When he nodded, she said "You got a court order giving you medical power of attorney? Adam." She understood now why he'd been there. "What judge signed off on it? I need to send her a thank you note."

"It was Harry Barnett." He tossed the order onto the bedside table. "We were running out of time, the drug must be administered within thirty hours of possible conception."

She closed her eyes. "God, I hope it wasn't too late."

He leaned over and gently kissed her just below the big bandage covering the gash in her forehead. "It'll be fine, love." She didn't answer. She turned on her side, facing him, and he adjusted her blankets, pushed hair behind her ear. When her breathing slowed to the deep rhythm of sleep, he sank down on his cot and tossed the blanket over his legs and shoulders. He was bone tired, but his brain wouldn't shut down. He remembered the night eight months ago, when Claire had crawled in his lap, her arms around his neck, and told him she was pregnant. She wanted to terminate the pregnancy, she was just getting started in her career, she didn't want to share Jack, it was the wrong time to have a baby. Jack supported her decision, even though he had a twinge of doubt he attributed to the nuns of his childhood. He went with her the next Wednesday, they each took a personal day from work, and then he took her to his apartment, caring for her even though all she wanted to do was sleep. Later she'd told him that her pills were in the suitcase, which got lost on her flight to South Dakota, catching up with her three days later. He fell asleep remembering her sad smile and her assurance that from now on the pills traveled in her purse.

When he woke, he sat up with a start. Sunlight filtered around the heavy drapes, and he had no idea of the time. He looked at the bed. Claire slept, on her side, facing toward him. Her eyelids fluttered, she was in REM sleep, and he hoped it was a good dream. He looked at his watch, it was nine o'clock. He'd slept through the shift changes, the nurses checking on their guarded patient, for all he knew he slept through doctor's rounds. He got up, he really needed to pee, and he wanted to brush his teeth, take a shower. He used the bathroom, then stuck his head out the room door, catching the attention of four cops.

"Sir?" said the closest one.

"Would you mind asking the nurses if there's somewhere I can get a toothbrush?" He rubbed the stubble on his face but didn't want to push his luck. The cop, a middle-aged man wearing sergeant's stripes, got up and walked to the nurses' station. Jack waited, hoping he didn't smell too badly, and then the man returned with a tooth brush and a disposable razor, along with a small tube of toothpaste.

"Best I can do, sir."

"Thank you, I really appreciate it."

"Can I get you some coffee? Something to eat? You guys were sleeping when they brought breakfast."

He thought for a second. "Not right now, but thank you." He withdrew into the room and went back to the bathroom. With clean teeth, clean body, and a fresh shave, he felt better about facing the day. He looked down at Claire, her bruises looked marginally better today. Then he stretched out on his back, hands locked behind his head, on his cot. He wondered what the detectives were doing right now. Tracking the sorry bastards, he hoped, wishing he could be part of the hunt but knowing he was needed here.

The detectives were frustrated. They'd identified Michael Calder's younger brother as Stephen Edward Calder, an MIT graduate in computer science, but he appeared to have vanished. Lennie knew how easy it was to get lost in today's society, to blend in with the homeless and the crazy, and how equally easy it would be for someone like Stephen Calder to reappear and merge into the stream of productive society. Emerge, snatch Claire, and then slip back into the pool of the forgotten and ignored. He looked at Rey, then reached for his cardboard cup of cold coffee. "Got anything?"

Rey looked at him. "Not a damn thing. He disappeared six years ago, after cleaning out a video game company. No paper trail, no sightings, nothing. I've been following Michael Calder's trail, hoping they were together, but nada." He closed a file and leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. "We're not going to find this guy, are we?"

"Not unless we get incredibly lucky." Lennie tossed his empty cup in the trash can. "And there's nothing on his pal Hank. How can a man go unfingerprinted these days? Employers, the military, misdemeanor busts - all leave fingerprints on record - so how did this guy avoid it?"

"Easy enough. I'm not surprised." Rey stretched. "Have you made a list of Stephen Calder's friends and associates? College roommate, colleagues…"

"I know, Rey." Lennie's smile was tired and humorless. He took a typed list out of the file and looked at it. Six names, all from Stephen Calder's past: Harold MacEntire, MIT roommate for two years, Hanford Howard, MIT roommate for the last two years, Mark Banks and Thomas Hunter, colleagues at the computer game company, and Henry Phillips and Richard Halliwell, neighbors at Stephen's last known address, an apartment in the Village. Four accounted for, hadn't seen Steve in years, he was kind of weird, ya know, the kind of guy who pulls the wings off flies. Two were in the wind - Mark Banks and Richard Halliwell, although one of later roommates said he thought Banks was dead, had heard he crashed his car in Boston. Lennie absently tapped his index finger on the paper beside Mark Banks, restless and curious. "Rey."

"Yeah."

"What if -" he frowned and got up, grabbing his coffee mug and filling it from the fresh pot by the PAA's desk. When he sat again, he tapped the name again. "This is too easy, but what if Claire misheard Calder?"

"Misheard how?"

"She was scared, she was injured, he'd almost fractured her skull in the elevator. What if she thought he said Hank when he really said Banks?"

Rey stood and leaned over for the paper. He sank back in his squeaky chair, looking at Mark Banks' name and the abbreviation for whereabouts unknown. "Possible, I guess, but you're right, it's too easy."

"I'm going to talk to Van Buren about it." He stood and Rey passed the paper back to him. He walked into Van Buren's office, and she looked up. "Lieutenant, what if…" he repeated his theory to Anita. She frowned, thinking.

"Run him down, Lennie, we can't ignore anything."

"We didn't get a fingerprint hit for him," he said, feeling slightly foolish, this was too easy, almost like Calder set them up to chase ghosts. "One guy who knew him said he thought he'd been killed in an accident in Boston."

"So find out, Lennie." She picked up a pencil and tapped it against her chin. "I trust your instincts, if you think there's something to it, run it down." She emphasized the last three words. "Call Boston, see if there's a death certificate for starters. Get everything you can on the guy."

Lennie nodded, then went back to his desk. He stared at the typed name for a full minute, then got to work, chasing shadows but hoping something solid lurked in the gray mists of the possible.

Six hours later, Lennie looked at his notes, neatly printed in block letters. Mark Daniel Banks, thirty-four, a construction worker, living in a one room apartment in a seedy neighborhood near the river. A quiet guy, said the few who remembered him from Boston, from his hometown of Albany. DMV said he'd never had so much as a parking ticket. No juvenile record. No military service. An expensive and valuable degree from MIT in computer sciences and he worked construction. The kind of loser who would be valuable to the Calder brothers, the geniuses who manipulated others, who planned so well that working for them was almost risk-free. Had Banks' wiring gotten so crossed that he'd abuse Claire Kincaid at Stephen Calder's bidding?

Lennie looked up as Rey came back from the locker room. "Ready?" he asked.

Rey nodded. "I am so ready."

They took a few uniforms, a forced entry team, and the DMV picture of Mark Banks. Lennie knew they should have shown it to Claire, but he also knew it didn't match the description she'd given of the shadowy Hank, it was ten years old, after all. He preferred a face to face with the guy rather than upsetting Claire over what was probably nothing. Van Buren had gone by the hospital after lunch, she told them Claire was physically recovering, she was young and healthy and that worked in her favor, but mentally, emotionally, she was in bad shape. Olivet was supposed to come by that afternoon, and Jack said the doctor told him Claire could be released tomorrow, her injuries would heal, but Jack had to be prepared for a long rocky road when it came to emotional recovery. Lennie knew catching the bastards was the first step in that emotional journey. Lennie put the warrant in his jacket pocket and followed Rey out.

They piled out of the step-van and ran into the building, a decrepit three story structure surrounded by equally seedy buildings. Banks lived on the second floor. Rey knocked on the door, then stepped back as the officer wielding the ram stepped up and struck the door. It crashed open and the cops all yelled "Police! Search warrant!"

A skinny man in torn jeans was lying on the couch. His reactions were abnormally slow, he offered no resistance as Lennie and Rey hauled him off the couch and handcuffed him. Rey picked up the pill bottles on the floor by the couch. "Oxy," he said to Lennie.

"Hurt my back on the job," Banks said, looking at Rey as if he'd never seen another human being before. "Fell off a scaffold." Rey noted Mark Banks' name on the prescription label.

"We need to have a chat downtown, Mark," Lennie said. He looked at the CSU guys waiting for the go-ahead. "Toss it," he said, then he and Rey escorted the skinny shirtless man outside and into a waiting patrol car.

"By the book!" Van Buren hissed as they marched Banks into an interrogation room. She hoped Mr. Schiff sent an ADA over before things went much further. She followed the detectives, taking her position at the mirror, switching the intercom to "on." She watched Lennie unlock the handcuffs, the skinny man rub his wrists, then saw Rey push the man into a chair. Lennie read him his rights again, and when he waived them, pushed the waiver across the table and dropped his pen on top of it. When Banks signed, Rey snatched the paper away and folded it into thirds, stuffing it into his suit coat's inner pocket.

"Do you know why we want to talk to you, Mark?" Rey asked, using normal conversational tones.

"No, man." He yawned, without covering his mouth, then focused on Rey. "My back hurts, man, did you bring my pills?"

Rey took the bottle of five milligram oxycodone tablets out of his pants pocket and placed them out of reach on the table. "I'll be happy to give you one, Mark, as soon as you answer our questions."

"Am I late?" Anita turned at the sound of a woman's voice, and saw the middle-aged ADA from sex crimes coming, carrying a briefcase and cup of coffee, her graying hair windblown and her suit rumpled. Anita wondered if she'd ridden a motorcycle over from Hogan Place. "That him?" The ADA peered through the one-way mirror, then sipped her coffee. "They mirandize him?"

"Yes." Anita kept sarcasm out of her voice. "My detectives are good at what they do, Counselor."

"Are they?" She put her briefcase on the floor. "That's good to know, since Adam Schiff is riding my ass on this one. Brooke Van Vleet," she added, extending her hand, shaking Anita's. "He doesn't look like a sadist."

"What does a sadist look like," Van Buren mumbled, turning her attention back to the interrogation.

Lennie and Rey sat across from each other, with Banks at the head of the table, his trembling hands wanting to snake out and grab the little bottle. "I'm in pain," he whined, "I need my meds. You can't withhold my meds." He looked at Rey, then at Lennie, trying to peg them. He chose Lennie and turned slightly in his chair. "You know you can't hold my meds, man, it's legally prescribed. I don't think so well when I'm hurting."

"What about when others are hurting?" Lennie asked, picking up the translucent plastic bottle, shaking it before sticking it in his coat pocket.

Mark stared at him, licking his lips. "What's that mean, man? If someone else is in pain, let 'em go their own doctor, those are my meds."

"Oh, we don't want to give away your medicine, Mark. We just want to know what you think about hurting other people. Women, for example. You get off on hurting women?"

"No." He shifted in his chair, clearly in discomfort.

"How'd you hurt your back, Mark?" Rey asked.

"Picking up something heavy."

"Like an unconscious woman?" Rey shed his coat and draped it over the back of his chair. "Hurt yourself carrying a hundred and ten pound woman?"

Mark looked at Rey and his eyes narrowed. "What are you saying, dude?"

"I'm only asking, dude." He spit the last word. "Did you hurt your back manhandling a young woman? I mean, I thought you told us you fell off a scaffold."

"Yeah, I picked up a heavy piece of pipe, felt something rip, and fell backward off the scaffold." He scratched his head. "What is this, anyway? I was minding my own business, taking a nap in my apartment, I wasn't bothering anyone. Then you guys break in, I mean, what the hell is going on?"

"You ever hear of Stephen Calder, Mark? Goes by the name 'Speed' on the street."

"I know Steve, we worked at the same company." His eyes narrowed. Rey reminded himself that this was a bright guy, don't underestimate him. "What's he done?"

"When did you last see him?" Lennie asked.

"I dunno, ten years?"

"Why are you asking us?" Lennie said, loosening his tie. "What about a woman named Claire Kincaid, know her?"

"Don't think so. Man, my back is killing me, give me my meds." He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "I'm not talking to you unless you give me my meds."

"That's fine with us, we work here, we'll be here all day anyway," Rey said. "So tell us about Steve and Claire Kincaid."

"I don't know a Claire Kincaid, and that's all I have to say until you give me my pills."

Lennie sighed, then got up. He opened the door and stepped into the observation area. "I don't want to screw this up, Lieutenant," he said, leaning against the door jamb. "Do I give him his medicine?"

ADA Van Vleet spoke. "Yes. He's got a prescription, you withhold them and some judge is going to throw this out. I don't know about you, but I'd rather eat dirt than face Adam Schiff and Jack McCoy if this thing gets thrown out because you didn't give him his legal medication." She looked at Van Buren. "Besides, it might loosen his tongue."

"Don't we cross into the 'under the influence' provision of official statements?" Anita asked.

"Give him one, and make sure this thing is taped." She shrugged. "Do you have a video unit?"

"Upstairs," Anita said. "I'll call them."

"If we can show he's not under the influence we can get his statements in."

"You hope," Lennie muttered. Then he looked at his lieutenant. "Want me to stall until vid gets here?"

Anita hung up the phone and looked at him. "Five minutes. Get him some water, give him a pill, and keep the paper cup for DNA." As Lennie went to the water cooler, Anita studied the ADA - her tense body language, her radiating anger - and said, "You know Claire?"

Van Vleet looked at her. "Not well. I do know Jack, though." She looked back through the mirror. "And I do not want to be on Jack's hit list."

Lennie came back with a white paper cup and opened the door. He took the cup to Banks, then fished the pill bottle out of his pocket. He shook one into Banks' trembling hand, and watched, amused, as the man tossed the tiny pill into his mouth and drained the water. Lennie took the cup from him and went back to the door. When he gave the cup to someone, Banks blurted "You fucker." Lennie closed the door and leaned against it. He couldn't keep the smile in check.

"Half an hour, Banks, and we'll have a DNA profile," Rey said. "Now, you want to tell us about Claire Kincaid?"

Banks put his head in his hands, his elbows on the table. He stayed that way for a few minutes, then he slapped his palms on the table and leaned back. "I want a lawyer."

By the book, Rey reminded himself, stop the interview now. He measured Mark Banks with his eyes, he could grind him into hamburger in two minutes, but he flashed on Claire Kincaid's broken, naked body lying on that filthy floor, and he knew he couldn't do anything to jeopardize this case. "OK, fine," he said. "Anyone in particular you want us to call, or will Legal Aid do?"

"Don't get between a junkie and his drugs," Rey said, smiling, as he looked at the DNA report. Mark Banks matched one of the semen samples. Then he frowned for a second, got up and left Lennie at his desk. He walked into the Loo's office and closed the door. "This goes to the defense, right?"

"Right." Anita leaned back and studied him, feeling for him as he bounced around the maze of major felony prosecutions, it had disillusioned more young men than she wanted to count. "Why, Rey?"

He put the report on her desk and tapped it. "Look at the findings, the known matches."

She picked it up. Three semen samples were recovered from Claire, originally run against the data base. Two had come up no match, the third belonged to Jack McCoy. Now she looked at Mark Banks' name and the word printed in red: Match. "I don't see your point, Rey. It's a 99.9 match."

He was agitated. "I'm talking about McCoy. Don't you think the defense will make a big deal out of that?"

Got it, she thought, he wants to protect Claire, protect Jack. "Rey, the DA's office has its own rules. Inter-office dating is officially prohibited between supervisors and subordinates, but Adam Schiff is known to look the other way where Jack McCoy's concerned. He has his own don't ask, don't tell policy. Jack didn't rape Claire, and no one's going to suggest he did. No defense attorney is that stupid. It's not going to come up." She pushed the paper toward him. He was still upset. "Rey, what is it?"

He stared out her window, chewing his bottom lip. "I was first in that room, Loo. I saw her. I've seen my share of evil on this job, but that was - you didn't see what those two did to her, Loo. I have nightmares about it. And it just seems that bringing up her relationship with McCoy, putting Mr. Schiff on the spot, embarrassing them, is almost as cruel."

She got up and stood beside him, touching his elbow. "It's not going to come up, Rey. It has no probative value. If a defense attorney tried to bring it up, he'd be squashed like a spider by the DA. I can appreciate your desire to protect Claire, but it's a non-issue. Jack can handle it."

He wasn't reassured, but he dropped it. "McCoy isn't going to try to prosecute, is he?"

"Of course not. An ADA from sex crimes is handling Banks. She's going to try to flip him."

"Make a deal?" He was incredulous. "After what he did to her?"

"Easy, Rey. They're going to offer twenty-five to life, nothing less, if he flips. If he doesn't, he'll be tried under the special circumstances provision. Since the death penalty has been re-instituted, he'll flip." She touched his elbow again. "Why don't you talk to Olivet?"

He shook his head. "She can't get those images out of my head. No one can."

"You're going to have to deal with it, Rey."

"I know," he said.

Claire's door opened, and she looked away from Jack and toward her visitor. Liz Olivet walked in, in khakis, white shirt, and tweed blazer. She carried flowers. She gave them to Jack, then took Claire's hands in hers.

"I'm so sorry, Claire."

Claire nodded. "So am I." She glanced at Jack, putting the vase on the window sill, then looked back at Olivet. They got along well enough, but they weren't friends, and Claire was all too aware of Olivet's unresolved feelings for Jack.

Olivet perched on the edge of the bed and Claire's legs involuntarily moved away. Liz tried to smile, looking into Claire's wounded, wary eyes. Of course she would avoid physical contact, Liz thought, it was the pattern. Rape victims did not deal well with having their personal space invaded. She looked at Jack, standing by Claire's head, his hand on her shoulder. You're in for it, she thought, you just don't know how bad it's going to be yet. She focused on Claire again. "I wanted to see you, but I would have waited awhile. Adam insisted I come over now. I told him I didn't think you'd want to talk about it."

"I can't," Claire said. "If I start remembering -" she balled her hand into a fist and bit it, closing her eyes.

"I know," Liz said. "Believe me, I know. I was raped, too." She looked at Jack. "How are you dealing it?"

"I'm OK," he said, and she thought liar. She observed them for a moment. Jack was permitted to touch, to cross into personal space, would that continue when he slipped into bed with Claire, wanting only to sleep, and his masculinity was all she sensed, his male presence, smell, tactile sensations of muscled arms, big hands, powerful legs? If he tried to draw Claire into his arms, would she freak, aware only of his penis, his superior strength, his dominating presence in her bed? You will be so far from OK when that happens, she thought, and who will pick up your pieces? You will be wounded by her reaction, puzzled, doesn't she understand it's you?

"Jack," she finally said, "hasn't one Claire's doctors, or a rape counselor, explained recovery to you?" He shook his head. "Then we need to talk before Claire goes home. When are you being released?" She looked at Claire, trying to get her to trust, to open just a little.

"Day after tomorrow," Claire said, and her hand found Jack's, holding his large hand in both of her smaller ones, stroking his fingers. "I'm going to Jack's. Security is already in place, Adam's given him a leave of absence."

"You're going to have to be alone for the first time at some point, Claire." Liz's voice was gentle, understanding, she'd been there and had a rough map of the journey.

The thought frightened the younger woman, then denial kicked in. "I'll handle it when it comes," she said.

"Would you like me to tell you what it was like for me?" Liz put her hand on Claire's knee, and Claire flinched, then flushed, embarrassed. Swallowing, she nodded. Liz settled herself on the bed, crossing her legs and clasping her hands over her left knee. Her gaze took in both of them. She would have to break through their defenses, and it would hurt, but in the long run it was needed. Adam had given her the job, despite the baggage of a brief affair with Jack, and Claire's knowledge of same. Adam believed she had the best chance of breaking through, of reaching them, he felt that Claire, and then Jack, would shut down if a stranger tried probing into their most personal lives. "Jack, would you mind getting me a Diet Coke?"

He looked at Claire, who fractionally inclined her head in assent. He fished in his pocket for some change and left the two women to talk.

"Claire, can you trust me, believe that I only want to help, that I've been there, been violated in an unspeakable way, that I know the kinds of things that will happen as you begin to heal?" Claire nodded. "He's going to want to make love to you again at some point, have you thought about that?"

"No. I can't." She looked away. "He'll wait until I tell him I'm ready."

"Yes, he will, but you may not be as ready as you think when the time comes. When he eases between your legs and suddenly all you see, all that fills your mind's eye, is one of your assailants? It's going to happen, Claire, no matter how much you don't want it to."

"So what do I do?" She drew her knees to her chest, hugging them, wanting Jack back.

"There are several schools of thought on the subject, only one of which has any basis in the reality of the victim. That's that when you think you're ready to make love again, you wait another few weeks, then wait again, and when you are ready to try, be ready for it to go all wrong. After a few rounds of that, it will get easier. Jack is going to have to be extremely gentle, willing to stop the second you want him to." The door opened and Jack came in with three Diet Cokes. Liz took hers, then waited while he opened Claire's and then his. He leaned against the bed rail, watching Liz. "I was telling Claire what to expect the first few times you try to make love." He sipped his drink, silently waiting, radiating tension, the last thing Claire needed to sense. She did, looking up at him. He looked down and smiled reassuringly. "It all comes down to patience, Jack, even if you don't understand what's going on in her head. You know it's you, you're going to wonder why she doesn't, why you scare her, why she bursts into tears when you pull her close. Why she won't look at your penis, touch it, why she may fight against you, try to get away. You need lots of patience, Jack." She wet her dry mouth with cold Diet Coke. "But when it finally works, it will be worth it."

"Who brought you back, Liz? Logan?" Jack shifted, standing, rolling his head, relieved by the cracking.

"Yes. He was a very patient man. You're going to have to be patient, Jack. A lot of relationships can't withstand the process. It either unites you or destroys you."

Briscoe and Curtis burst in, looking happier than they had in two weeks. Liz got off the foot of the bed and retreated into the background. "We flipped him," Briscoe said. "He's given us some leads on Calder, he's going to testify, and he's going to jail for a very long time."

"Where does he think Calder is?" Jack put his drink down, as if he was going to leave this minute to chase the psycho down.

"Boston," Rey said. "We have their cops looking for him. It won't be long now, Claire," he said. "Lennie and I are going up there tonight."

"Are you sure he's there?" she asked.

"It's the best lead we have," Lennie said. "Even if he's not, we're closing in on him, and he knows it. He's not going to get near you again, I promise."

Jack unlocked his apartment door and ushered Claire in, his hand on the small of her back. She was still a mess, her bruises now that ugly yellow and green of the healing process, but she was getting physically stronger every day. Dr. McGowan said she could go, that she would recover faster at home, and he supplied her with a prescription for Percocet and tranquilizers, with instructions not to take them at the same time. He'd talked with Jack, while the nurses took Claire to the whirlpool bath.

"She's going to be scared a lot of the time, especially as long as this animal is still out there. Needy, emotionally, and unavailable physically. The first time you do make love may not be fireworks and the earth moving, but she needs it to heal, needs to know she can open herself to a man again. Just don't push it."

Jack filed that away, along with Olivet's advice, deciding to trust his instincts. Claire was nervous about going home, to Jack's home, but agreed it was the best place for her. She seemed surprised to see Piper Craig in the apartment, and she turned to Jack. "Please," she whispered, "does she have to be here?"

"For now, yes," he said, helping her out of her coat. Claire wore a long-sleeved tee shirt under a pair of surgical scrubs. She stood, trembling, in the middle of the room, hugging herself. Jack tossed their coats on a chair and took her in his arms, giving Piper a hard look, as if to say 'couldn't you be more subtle?'

Piper got up and approached Claire. Jack had his hand on the back of Claire's head, his fingers tangled in her hair, keeping her face against his chest. "She's not two, Jack," she said, "just because she can't see me doesn't mean I'm not here." She stuck her hands in the back pockets on her jeans. "Claire. Look at me, please." Her tone was soft. Claire sighed and turned around in Jack's arms, her back against his chest, holding his hands under her breasts. She looked at the woman who was going to be a presence whether Claire liked it or not, and she didn't like it, she wanted to be alone with Jack. "Claire, I know you don't want me here, that you want privacy, and I'll try to make this as easy as possible. I won't barge in on you, I'll respect your privacy, but you have to respect that I have a job to do, and a hell of a lot of motivation to do it right. You're as safe here as we can make it, which is pretty damn safe, so I hope you'll be able to do whatever you need to do to heal. I'll stay out of your way as much as possible."

Claire nodded, then looked up and back at Jack. "I want to go to bed, I'm a little shaky."

He nodded. Holding hands, they walked into his bedroom and closed the door. Jack pulled the covers back and helped her ease down on clean sheets. Then he looked at her, waiting. "Hold me," she whispered. He started unbuttoning his shirt, then froze - Claire looked close to panic.

"You don't want me to undress," he whispered, "not a problem."

"No," she said, after a few seconds, "go ahead. Just, just keep your shorts on."

He smiled. "Of course." He stripped, his khakis and yellow Ralph Lauren button-down shirt pooling at his feet. He slipped in beside her and drew her close. She was rigid in his arms. He put his face in her hair, inhaling her scent, keeping his arms loose and his nether regions away from her bottom as they settled. Mr. Winkie was a treacherous companion, Jack knew he could spring into wakefulness at one accidental touch. They spent the afternoon like that, whispering, dozing, thinking, but he held her, always.

Briscoe and Curtis gripped Steve Calder's arms and pushed, pulled, and shoved him up the stairs and into the detective squad room. Van Buren came out of her office and nodded. "IR two," she said, and her detectives hauled their suspect down a narrow corridor and into interview room number two. Rey unlocked his handcuffs, yanked his arms around to the front, and shackled his hands to the metal ring in the table. Calder just smirked.

"You aren't going to hurt me," he purred, "because if you did, your case would be dismissed, and then Jack McCoy would be hunting you. How is Sweet Claire, by the way? Does she remember me?"

"Shut up," Rey said, wanting nothing more than to hit this pig, but he knew McCoy would come after him if he did. He glanced at his watch, then stepped out into the observation room. Van Buren came in with ADA Van Vleet and Jack McCoy. He couldn't hide his surprise. "Counselor, what are you doing here?"

Jack stared at the man handcuffed to the table, his forehead nearly touching the mirror. "Adam told me to go in with you for a couple of minutes, let that sick fuck think I just might be prosecuting him."

"I don't know, Jack," Anita said. "If you deck him, it's all over."

"I'm not going to hit him."

"He's going to bait you, Jack." ADA Van Vleet stood in front of him, tilting her head up to meet his eyes. "It's his shot to hurt you, he's going to take it. Can you take it, can you let him say whatever comes into that sick head of his?"

"I can, I will." Jack cracked his knuckles. His hair was too long, he'd lost weight, he needed a shave, but his eyes were the same - intense, focused. He needed to confront Stephen Calder, one on one, before the trial got underway. He had to face him down, keep control and walk away, for Claire. He had to let him know what was waiting at the end of the trial, to promise Claire justice. Her physical injuries were all but healed now, though the scars from Calder's knife inside her thighs would always be there - Calder's initials, carved into both legs - but her eyes were haunted, hunted. Twelve weeks, he thought, that sick shit evaded the cops for twelve weeks, but now he was in Jack's playground, now he was the one chained, Jack held the power now, and he was going to face evil down. For Claire. To make her whole. "Let's go."

He followed Curtis into the room. Calder couldn't hide his surprise at seeing McCoy, but he quickly recovered, slipping his insolent mask in place. "Ah, Jack the Hammer McCoy has come to visit. To what do I owe the honor, Jack lad?"

Jack stared at him, arms crossed over his chest. "I'm going to nail your balls to the wall," he said. "Stick the needle in. You will get the needle, you know. Claire is a district attorney before anything else in the eyes of the law, we reserve very special punishment for those who would harm a district attorney. Just think of me as the engine, driving you to Attica, where I'll be the last face you see."

"Emotional, aren't we, Jackie? What's the matter, Sweet Claire won't let you in her bed?" He made a clicking sound. "She's not that good a piece of ass, Jack, we both know that." He eyed the attorney, contempt plain in his eyes. "I so hate all this unpleasantness over a lousy piece of ass." He snorted. "You're older, you should have taught her a few things."

Jack felt anger, cold and calculating, an anger that felt good. He stared the other man down. His non-responsiveness to the smaller man's taunts was unexpected, threw him off his game, and still Jack stared, arms across his chest, his Cocker Spaniel eyes now like those of a stalking wolf, cold and focused. Then Jack looked at the detectives. "Book his sorry ass. I'll be waiting in arraignment."

"You can't prosecute me," Calder said.

Jack glanced at him. "I'm the DA," he said, "I can do anything I want." He walked out of the room. He almost lost it then, sagging against a green wall, fighting the urge to vomit. Then he got control again and stood erect, looking at Van Vleet. "Make damn sure we get remand," he said. "I'm going home."

Claire was on the couch, drinking a glass of wine, a book open in her lap. She looked up when he came in, and she searched his face. Then she put the book and wine glass aside and got up. She put her arms around Jack's waist. "They really have him?"

He stroked her back, as he always did when reassuring her that there were no monsters under the bed, no boogie men in the closet. "They do. He should be in arraignment as we speak."

Her head was under his chin, her ear over his heart, her hands on the small of his back. He felt the tension leave her, for a little while at least. She rocked gently in his arms, and he tightened his arms, holding her close. Then her arms came up around his neck and she looked at him. "I want to try again," she whispered. He nodded. She led him into the bedroom, then stood, awkward and touching, as she said "I don't know what to do."

He smiled, then stepped over to her. He kissed her, tasting her wine, one hand in her hair, the other on her lower back. When he broke the kiss, he held her head against his throat, stroking that silky black hair he loved, then he stepped back, smiling again, as he reached for the buttons of one of his shirts - she'd taken to wearing his button downs, which came almost to her knees, instead of her clothes around the house. He slipped it off her shoulders, let it fall to the floor, then unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it off and tossed it toward the corner. She didn't flinch when his pants dropped to the floor and he stepped out of them and into her arms, kissing her again. Wearing just their underpants, they eased onto the bed. He stroked her hair, pushing it away from her face, curling it around her ear. Very gently, he pulled her panties away from her body and down, then freed Mr. Winkie. She was still with him, the deer in the headlights look hadn't come over her yet, her hands were caressing his arms, his chest, his jaw.

His touch was light and sure. He kissed her, he loved kissing her, as his hands moved. Then he looked at her, asking the question with his eyes. She smiled, and he slipped inside her, his eyes locked on hers the whole way. "Jack," she whispered, and he froze, but she touched his chin. "It's OK," she said. "I want to belong to you again, I want you to erase the memories of -" her voice caught, then she was OK. "Of them," she said.

He was lost within her, with burying their pain in love. He was careful, he didn't want to hurt her, to lose sight of the "her" inside the body, slippery with sweat, beneath him. He kept his eyes on hers, loving her, calling her to him again, to be one like they never had before, and she met him, arched toward him, called his name, and he answered her call.

The trial began two weeks later. Though the defense had hoped to hamper the prosecution by invoking the speedy trial clause, the offices of the district attorneys had been preparing for this trial since the moment Claire Kincaid stepped into an elevator in Hogan Place and vanished. Jack returned to work full-time, Claire came in half days, which were spent in discussions, interviews, ADA Van Vleet prepared Claire for trial like no other witness. Jack sat in on most of these prep sessions, he had a sense of where the defense would go, attacking the victim, and he wanted Claire to lose it in the protective shield of the Offices of the District Attorney rather than in some trial part on the stand. He coldly remembered Calder's taunt - "lousy piece of ass" - and he readied Claire for it. Van Vleet practiced parries and thrusts on him, protective moves designed to shield Claire as much as possible from the accusations and innuendo - the wild woman under the buttoned down façade of an ADA, on the hunt for a ride on the wrong side of the tracks, and when caught in the act, did what all unstable women did, cried rape. Van Vleet hated saying these things to Claire, who flinched when she did, but Jack was even worse in the things he said.

"You like sex, Miss Kincaid?" he'd say, and she replied "I used to." Van Vleet noticed the eye contact, the love and trust flowing between the two, belying the dreadful things coming out of Jack McCoy's mouth. "The Hudson Medical Center doctors recovered three semen samples from your vagina, Miss Kincaid, yet you've testified two men raped you. Who was the third, Miss Kincaid, did he get away with the others? Are you protecting someone, Miss Kincaid, or are you hiding the real you? You had consensual sex with Mr .McCoy, why shouldn't we believe your intercourse with Mr. Calder wasn't consensual as well?" And Claire, fighting tears, flinching under his intensity, would respond to each question: "John McCoy. We're in a relationship, I'm not hiding anything. Intercourse with Mr. McCoy was always consensual, Stephen Calder raped me, repeatedly, along with Mark Banks." And when it was over, Jack would sit next to Claire on the couch, gathering her into his arms, holding her face against his shoulder, whispering to her. ADA Van Vleet didn't know how Claire withstood these verbal assaults, how Jack could whip those cold, hateful words at his lover and then hold her. Van Vleet realized that getting through it, coming from Jack, prepared her exceptionally well to take it from the sleazebag defense attorney retained by Calder.

Trial began, Judge Nancy Mellon presiding. She was a stern judge, a staunch believer in the rights of the accused, tolerating histrionics as well as she would tolerate tarantulas crawling over her face. She was known for issuing contempt citations, for upbraiding recalcitrant witnesses, for running a tight ship. The jury was split down the middle in terms in gender, but the prosecution had an airtight case, it was only going to trial because Jack McCoy and Adam Schiff wanted Stephen Calder to get the needle.

Witnesses were introduced to testify about the ambulance, but they had little to offer. They couldn't identify the defendant as having been part of the paramedic crew. Then Claire was called to the stand. She was calm, in control, wearing a black business suit, with pants instead of a skirt, her black hair loose and styled around her face. She wore her favorite pearls for luck. When she'd sworn her oath, she waited, her eyes flicking from Stephen Calder to Brooke Van Vleet to Jack, standing at the back of the courtroom. She almost smiled at him, but ADA Van Vleet chose that moment to stand, check her notes, and advance on the witness stand.

"Miss Kincaid, could you tell us where you're employed and in what capacity?"

"I'm an assistant district attorney for New York County. My specific capacity is assistant to Executive Assistant District Attorney John McCoy."

"And what do your duties involve?"

"Prosecuting major felonies."

"And have you met the defendant in the course of your duties?"

"No, I have not."

"Did you have any connection with the defendant prior to January of this year?"

"No."

"So when did you run into the defendant?"

"When he kidnapped me in an elevator in Hogan Place - the office building for the DA, for public works, and so forth."

"If you didn't have contact of any sort with the defendant, why would he kidnap you?"

"I was assisting in the prosecution of his brother, Michael Calder, who was charged with one count of aggravated murder. The Calder brothers wished to have the charges against Michael Calder dismissed, so threats were made against the office. I was the target of opportunity."

And so it went, Claire was led through her story, in all its horror. She refused to look at the photographs taken in the hospital, of her injuries, color blow-ups of an unrecognizable young woman. Then the defense attorney stood, buttoning his suit coat and staring at her for a full minute.

"Miss Kincaid." He inclined his head for a second. "That's quite an horrific tale. I'm glad you're looking so well now, after suffering injuries like the ones in the photographs." He smiled without humor, his eyes narrowing. "Are you certain you've never met Mr. Calder?"

"Yes."

"We'll come back to that. How old are you, Miss Kincaid?"

"Twenty-seven."

"A thoroughly modern woman?"

She looked at, puzzled. "I guess so."

"Sexually liberated, equality in all things, right?"

"I'm not sure I understand the question." She saw Jack slip into the gallery behind the ADA. She focused on him.

"I mean, you enjoy sex, right? No problem with one night stands, get it while you can, all that?"

"I used to enjoy sex, yes. Never had a one night stand."

"Ever had sex with married men?"

She looked at Jack, and the defense attorney caught it. He turned and saw Jack, and frowned. "Your honor, I'd like to request Mr. McCoy's removal from the courtroom. He's on my tentative witness list."

"Approach, counselors." Claire locked eyes with Jack as the lawyers argued. Then the lawyers stepped back and Claire realized she hadn't heard a word. The judge looked at Jack. "Mr. McCoy, I'm asking you to leave the court, you're on tap to be called as a witness." Jack nodded and got up. He looked back once at Claire from the door, and then he left her to face this sleaze in a cheap suit.

"I ask you again, Miss Kincaid, have you ever had sexual relationships with married men?"

"Objection, Your Honor, irrelevant."

"Miss Kincaid's sexual history is very relevant, Your Honor. Goes to a pattern of picking up men and then using the law against them when the going gets rough."

"Your honor, a rape victim's sexual history may not be introduced in court."

"Objection sustained."

The lawyer smirked. "Well, what about your supervisors? Have you had a sexual relationship with your immediate supervisor?"

"Objection!"

"Your Honor, one of semen samples recovered from Miss Kincaid after her allegations of rape have been positively identified as belonging to her supervisor."

The judge sighed. "Overruled, Mrs. Van Vleet." She looked at Claire. "Answer the question."

Claire nodded. "Yes, I'm in a relationship with my supervisor."

"And had sex with him during the same time frame as with the accused?"

She dug her fingernails into her palms. "The night before I was abducted."

And it continued for another ten minutes, questions designed to humiliate her, to plant doubt about her character in the minds of the jury, but Claire answered them without hesitation, though the jury saw her flinch, saw pain in her eyes. Then she was dismissed.

Jack waited in the hall. He immediately put his arm around her and led her outside, into a waiting cab, which took them to his office. He had to be near the phone, near the courthouse, in case the defense decided to call him to the stand. He ushered her into his office, then he locked the door and closed the blinds, then sat on the couch with her, holding her hand. Tears formed, she wiped them away before they escaped.

"I'm going after that bastard defense attorney." He rubbed Claire's thumb with his.

"We knew he'd try something like that." Claire put her head on his shoulder. "I don't think he scored any points with the jury, or the judge either, if you get down to it."

The door to Adam's office opened and the old man burst in. He stopped when he saw the closed blinds, the attorneys holding hands, the tears in Claire's eyes. "Hiding?" he asked. "I would, too, if I'd been through that sham cross. How are you, Claire?"

She met his gaze head on, feeling the pressure of Jack's hand tighten. "I'll survive, Adam, thank you."

"Why don't you go home?"

"I have to be 'accessible' for Le Asshole Defense." Jack freed his hand and draped his arm around Claire.

"Go home, sleep for a couple of days. He won't call you, and if he does, I'll run interference with the judge. Go." He smiled with real affection. "People will talk if you hide in here with the blinds closed."

Jack looked at Claire and nodded. "See you tomorrow, Adam."

They were dozing, tangled in each other, when the phone rang. Jack rose up on an elbow, confused, then grabbed the phone as Claire untangled her legs from his and sat up. "McCoy."

"The case has gone to the jury." He recognized the voice - oh, Judge Mellon, he thought, your secret is safe with me. He mumbled his thanks and hung up. Claire looked at him, sitting tailor fashion beside him, comfortable now in nudity with him, for he paid no attention to the scars. He pulled her down, her head on his chest, and he played with her hair.

"That," he said, "was the honorable Judge Mellon, though she'll never admit it, God forbid anyone find out she has a heart. It's gone to the jury." He traced her ear. "Are you all right?"

She sat up, turning to face him. "I wouldn't have gotten through this without you."

He cupped her cheek. "Yeah, you would. You're stronger than you think."

"Do you think he'll get the needle?"

Jack nodded. "How does that make you feel?"

"I'm not sure." She eased down into his shoulder. "Part of me wants him to die for what he did to me." She drew a circle on his abdomen with her finger. "And the other part of me thinks the death penalty is just wrong. Killing him won't undo what's been done to me, won't erase his initials carved in my thighs. It won't take away the darkness in you." She looked at him. "I want so much to eradicate that darkness, Jack. I want what we had back, and it's gone." She touched his lips with her index finger, then traced his nose. "What's between us now is deeper, yes, I know you love me, I love you - I guess I'm saying he took my innocence is a way. I want to play again, like we used to, and I don't think I can ever be that carefree again." She pulled herself up on his chest and kissed him. "If I thought killing him would return the things he took, maybe I'd feel differently about it. As it is, I hate it that the state may kill this man in the name of justice for me."

He put his arm around her. "If anyone deserves it, Claire, he does. Your average street scumbag has to know that if you kill a cop, go after a DA, the state is going to squash you like a bug."

"Jack." She looked at him, her chin in his chest. He brushed her hair out of her eyes. "I'm allowed to make a statement, right? As the victim, not as an ADA."

"Yes."

"Good." She rolled off the bed, landing as always on her feet. "I'm hungry." She smiled. "Let's play Naked Chef."

Jack and Claire were in the courtroom for the verdict. Stephen Calder was found guilty, and the judge ordered a date for the sentencing phase. She watched the court officers lead Calder out through the side door, and Claire flashed on the man strapped down to a gurney, an IV needle inserted none too gently by a man who looked like Jack, who said "This is for Claire Kincaid."

She didn't sleep the night before she would address the court as the victim. She sat at Jack's kitchen table, sipping wine, doodling on a legal pad. She wasn't sure how to say the things she felt. She wished the words would come. Jack would back her, but she knew he wanted to see Calder go down. He'd been a victim, too, she thought, Calder had taken from Jack, too. Calder had trashed Jack's life almost as much as hers, but he had no legal standing to address the court. He'd borne the weight of caring for her, trying so desperately to heal her, to reach the Claire he loved in the shadows of the Claire he found in that warehouse. She thought of the nights he held her while she cried, the times she'd screamed don't touch me, just don't touch me, the times when she'd wanted to love him but hadn't been able to do so, and then the first time when she did. Jack endured all of that with her, yet he had no say, no legal right to address the court and describe the agony of his life since Stephen Calder took her. She would have to speak for both of them, put into words the oneness they'd forged since that January day. They were no longer two people in so many ways, but one, one soul and spirit united by pain and healing. If she spoke for Jack, she'd be speaking for Claire. She began writing.

Judge Mellon looked at the gallery, empty except for a handful of lawyers, all from the DA's office. She focused on Claire Kincaid and Jack McCoy, then nodded at Claire. She got up, Jack touched her hand, and she nodded. She walked to the podium, ignoring the jury and focusing on the judge. "Your Honor," she said. "Under the laws of the State of New York, I'm permitted to make a statement on the effects of the crime against me. I ask your leave to digress a little." Judge Mellon nodded. "I've changed as a result of what was done to me. I hate being alone. I jump at sudden sounds. I have trouble concentrating sometimes. I want to go back to work, but I don't know if I'll be able to do so. Physically, my body has recovered, though I bear scars that will be there for the rest of my life. I can deal with that. I'm alive, I still have Jack - and it's Jack I want to talk about. He has no legal standing in this matter, and that's wrong, Your Honor. Jack is as scarred as I am, but no one but me can see those scars. Jack had a girlfriend who liked to play, to travel, who was fearless and curious and experimental. Stephen Calder took that girlfriend away from Jack. A lesser man might have left that girlfriend after a decent interval. A lesser man might have lost patience, might have sought comfort in another woman. Jack didn't. Jack stayed by my side through tears, nightmares, rejection followed by clinging. The life he had was shattered, but he got out the glue and carefully and lovingly put it back together. It was a different object when he finished, better in some ways, because it was deeper, it was based on more than sex and adventures, but it wasn't the life he thought he had, thought he wanted, and he had to change, adapt, and he did. We are more solidly together now than we were a few months ago. But I know this, Your Honor, if Stephen Calder is executed in the name of justice for me, Jack and I will lose each other, we can't bear that weight on top of everything else. We were able to re-forge our love through the darkness, because there was light at the end of it, but if a man dies in my name then the darkness will be unbearable. I ask this court not to shatter my life anew, but to let it grow from here, let Jack and I live in light and love, and not with the darkness of a death executed out of a sense of justice for some abstract figure named Claire Kincaid. Let Stephen Calder spend every day of the rest of his life realizing he owes his life to the people he tried to destroy, who wouldn't let him destroy them. Let Jack and I breathe free, without this weight always on our shoulders. Please, Your Honor, have mercy on Stephen Calder and most of all on Claire Kincaid and Jack McCoy. Thank you."

They were recalled to court the next morning, the jury had decided. Claire dressed simply, in khakis and a blue blouse. Jack wore one of his expensive, tailored suits. They hadn't discussed her statement, no need to, she thought, they understood one another. They sat behind the People's table, waiting, their hands touching. The jury filed in and the slip was passed to the judge. She read it, then folded it and stared at the defendant. "You will rise," she said, and he did.

"Passing judgment is ultimately my responsibility, taking into consideration the jury's verdict. That said, I listened carefully to Miss Kincaid yesterday, as did the jury. You are a worm, Mr. Calder, deserving of death for the horrors you perpetrated on that young woman." Judge Mellon's voice trembled and she sighed. "I think the jury must feel as I do, that to impose death on you, no matter how deserved, would be tantamount to passing the same sentence on Miss Kincaid, and that I will not do, nor is the jury willing to do it. Consequently, you are sentenced to life without the possibility of parole, at a facility to be determined by the Department of Corrections. The jury is discharged with the thanks of the people. Miss Kincaid, I hope you will return to the district attorney's office, we need people like you. Mr. McCoy, you have a treasure, but I think you know that. Court adjourned." She slammed her gavel and turned away from the sight of a grinning defendant.

Claire and Jack went to Chicago for two weeks. He showed her the landmarks of his childhood, took her to a Cubs game, walked around the city with her. She was light and life and he did not want to lose her. He'd healed her, perhaps she could heal him now, make the memories of his father, of his losses, less painful. He was full of hope, of possibilities, and he smiled down at her, kissing her nose. "Want to make a baby?"

She laughed, but she tightened her legs around his.

When they got back, they had a new case, and Claire was ready to get back to work. She opened the file and began reading, then realized, with a sick feeling that may or may not have been the baby they'd made during their time in Chicago, that the shadows would always be there, that if she avoided them they would seek her out. She paused outside Jack's office, watching him, loving him, dreading the arguments that would surely come from this. Still, she knew they'd get through it, come out on the other side, and they were going to be parents, the EPT confirmed it that morning. They'd hugged, kissed, life as an affirmation in the death they dealt with every day. Jack sensed her and smiled, waving her in. He was happy, Claire thought, they were happy again, and she couldn't let this case break that. She walked in.

"Adam said he'd sent you a file? Ready to give me the Cliff notes?"

She slid the file onto his desk. "Man named Micky Scott raped and beat a woman to death in the middle of the day, in front of thirty witnesses. She rear-ended his car in traffic." She took a deep breath. "Adam wants the death penalty for this one, Jack."

He stood and massaged her shoulders. "We'll see how it plays out, Claire. It's just a case, it's not the end of the world for us." He reached the knots in her shoulders and expertly loosened them. "We'll get through it. We have so much to look forward to." He kissed the back of her neck. "I'm going to love you for the rest of my life."

She turned around and quickly kissed him. "Same here, Jack." She grinned. "It's a good thing you love me, cause I'm never leaving you. Me and Junior, you're stuck with us forever."

He smiled. "Forever's not long enough for me. Now, show me the particulars on Micky Scott. How much trouble can this case be, if there were thirty witnesses?"

She sat in her chair and opened the file. "It was while we were in Chicago, making babies, that this poor woman got in a fender bender with Mr. Scott…"

End


End file.
